Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

act i

“Welcome to Sophomore Year”

Asta loved Ace City.

Ace was an ethereal city on the east coast of Clover Country, bordering the Joker Sea. It was full of diverse people and cultures, the reason being the amount of towns within the city. Hage, Kiten, Saussy, Nean — just to name a few. Every part of Ace made it what it was today: an assortment of beautiful cultures, home to the most beautiful sights in Clover, and most importantly, it was where the love of his life lived.

Autumn sweeps over Hage, the neighborhood of Ace that Asta lived in, bringing forth brisk winds and cascading leaves, their hue fading from the vibrant viridian that had grown beneath the summer sun, to a faint gold, matching the sun’s beautiful glow.

Wafting down a second-floor window, a leaf the color of embers lightly kisses the solid glass as it falls freely, the piece of nature catching a glimpse of the sleeping boy beyond that window before it finds its temporary home on the ground, resting on rough, uneven concrete. Until the wind picks it up, it remains there, silent just as the early mornings typically were in Hage.

Just as that leaf goes to rest, the boy within the brick walls awakens, albeit a bit slowly. A beautiful silence encompasses the tiny room, the boy beneath the navy blue comforter tussling in his sleep, turning onto his left side, facing the window. Eyes still shut, his lips pull up into a dopey smile, head snuggling deeper into the white pillow

Only a sliver of sunlight peers through the window, the navy curtains pulled together, blocking out a majority of the bright rays of nearly blinding light.

Thinking of nothing but the warmth radiating underneath the thick comforter, and the faint smell of cinnamon dancing along the air, Asta slips back into his slumber.

BEEP!

Well, maybe not.

Asta jolts at the sudden sound, its unpleasant shriek disturbing the lovely silence that once was. Annoyed, he turns over once more, facing the wooden nightstand where the dreaded alarm clock sat. Eyes still closed, Asta pulls an arm from beneath the soft warmth, slamming a fist on the off button.

Just five more minutes, he thinks to himself, though he finds it hard to find the peace that he was encompassed in just seconds prior. Asta turns again, hoping to return to his state of drowsiness, only to find that he can’t fall back to sleep. 

A harsh scowl deepens the already-aggravated expression gracing his features, followed by a drawn out groan of frustration. Reluctantly, Asta gives in to the daylight calling his name just beyond his window, and decides it’s time to start his day. 

It’s not that Asta isn’t a morning person, because truly, he is. In fact, he’s one of the most “morning person” morning people one would ever see. Asta typically got up before seven, even on weekends and during the summer, and was always doing something to get his mind stimulated. Exercise, cooking, doing errands — as long as it didn’t require academics, Asta would do it, no questions asked. 

What makes today different, however, is that the effects of yesterday still haven’t worn out yet. To celebrate the last day of summer vacation, he and his friends decided to make a bucket list of things they haven’t done all summer and fit it all in one day. Of course, they couldn’t do everything they had included on the list — but it was still a lot. 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best of ideas, seeing that now, Asta’s entire body feels like it’s weighted to his bed, each limb heavy and just a tad bit achy from the activities the prior day. A few more hours of sleep could flood his muscles with much-needed relief, but it’s time for school. Plus, he couldn’t fall back to sleep, even if he tried. Damn alarm clock.

Asta sits up, the comforter that once enveloped his body now falling to his lap. A loud yawn pulls from his lips, and he follows it up with a stretch, raising his arms up in order to crack his back. After pulling on the tender muscles for a minute, Asta lowers his arms back down, pushing the comforter off of him and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

The wooden ground feels cool against the soles of his feet, the floorboards creaking just the slightest bit. Asta stands up, stepping a few inches closer to the window. He pulls the curtains open, revealing the burning sun sitting high and mighty atop the sky. The sudden change in light exposure causes Asta to blink a few times, eyes squeezing shut before reopening, adjusting to the bright shift in the hue of his room.

Just beyond the glass, Asta can see his pet bird sitting on a thin branch, on the tree right beside his window. Asta opens the window, a quaint breeze blowing in, drifting across his skin.

“Hi, Nero,” Asta smiles, the built up aggravation within him from waking up coming to a simmer. Nero had a weird way of cooling him down, despite her being not the best-behaved or nicest bird. Something about her presence was calming. Perhaps because of the person who gifted her to him?

Nero tilts her head, letting out a small chirp. The tiny bird flutters her wings, flying off of the frail branch and into Asta’s bedroom. Nero lands in the nest on the windowsill, chirping twice more.

“Not going to peck me this morning?” Asta asks, petting her shiny fur coat with his pinky. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Irritation brews behind Nero’s eyes, the shade of blood, but she nuzzles further into Asta’s pinky anyway, not wanting to leave his gentle touch just yet.

After a few moments of the heartwarming moment, Asta lifts his finger from her head, and the bird frowns in response. Asta just chuckles, a slightly apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, Nero. I’ve got to get ready for school.”

☘︎︎

Asta stands in front of the body-length mirror on the right side of his room, propped against his wall. Doing so, he can see the uniform fitting snugly on his body. The uniform was simple, consisting of a black blazer with black slacks, a white, button-down shirt, and a tie a deep shade of green, matching the color of pine, or something of the sort. A golden pin, its design a four leaf clover, sat on the right lapel of the blazer, just above the chest area.

A lot of the time, Asta wondered how the school could afford such nice uniforms and give them to about four-thousand students for free, and offer free replacements when it came to damage, loss, or a need for a size change. Most schools in Ace — or, well, in the entire country of Clover — would charge for extra uniforms.

Then again, when Asta remembers exactly what the school looks like, well… it all starts to come together.

Asta adjusts the tie around his neck, showing a satisfied grin once he gets it on right. Fanzell had taught him how to tie a necktie at around seven or eight years old. Asta doesn’t particularly remember why — it’s not like he’s ever been anywhere fancy, or that required such attire, at that age. Perhaps it was just for practice, for future times like this one. Whatever the reason, Asta is super thankful to the man for it.

After adjusting the cloth headband on his head, making sure it fits snugly around the tips of his ears, he turns to the window, his eyes meeting Nero’s.

“I’m off, Nero. Be a good bird, okay?” Asta smiles, adoration glimmering within his eyes. He loved Nero so much.

Nero just stares, those maroon eyes that would seem so hateful, so intimidating to the average person, displaying fondness. Of course, it’s disguised through a look of annoyance. The bird chirps in defiance, turning her head away from the boy.

Asta chuckles. “Aw, that’s not very nice,” He grabs his bag from the ground, where it was leaning against the nightstand. Slinging it over his shoulder, he shows Nero one last smile before leaving his bedroom, shutting the door on his way out.

The stairs in his house were right by Asta’s door. Naturally, Asta’s feet began to carry him to the carpeted steps, taking him to the door where his shoes were. 

Oddly enough, before Asta was even halfway down the steps, he stopped. Asta could still see the upstairs hallway considering he was still near the top of the stairs, and right in front of his eyes was his mother’s bedroom door.

Asta doesn’t know why his gaze lingers on the white door, or why he feels something ugly in his chest. All summer, he had passed by the door without giving it a second glance, knowing that she was either asleep or at work. It was fruitless for him to try and interact with her — despite how often he tried. Of course, he didn’t blame her. How could he? The woman worked long, crucial hours so he had somewhere to call home, so he could have the luxury of turning on the lights, using the water, having electricity — they didn’t have money like that, so she had to sacrifice time with her son so that he could be comfortable.

Still, that fact doesn’t quell the brewing storm in his chest. Asta’s expression turns to one of longing, and without even realizing it, he finds himself walking back up the steps, to his mother’s room.

Standing outside the door, Asta raises a shaky fist to knock, but pauses. Yeah, he’s always been an impulsive person, typically doing things without much thought or reason behind it, but this wasn’t one of those moments. Asta may be stupid, but he wasn’t completely hollow in the head (despite the amount of people who’ve begged to differ). Just beyond the door, there was a fifty percent chance his mother was sleeping, the baggage of long, grueling hours weighing heavy on her shoulders — on her entire being.

Though she may not be a light sleeper, Asta didn’t want to risk waking her anyway. Jolting her out of her well deserved sleep, and for what?

Yeah — for what? Why is Asta outside her door right now? That’s something he hadn’t even asked himself yet.

Asta unravels his fist, palms becoming clammy as he wraps his hand around the metal knob. It’s cool against his skin, and as he turns the knob, something even chillier comes drifting out through the thin opening now that the door is cracked open. Asta opens it further, slowly and silently, until he can fully step inside.

It’s uncanny how unchanging the room is. Asta doesn’t think she’s ever moved a single thing since… since… well, since when? Asta wouldn’t be able to recall. Regardless, he steps in further, nearly tip-toeing. Now in the center of the room, which barely touched 400 square feet, he was at the foot of her bed.

Now close in distance, Asta can hear the light snores coming from beneath the covers. Such a small, insignificant sound, yet it reminds him of so much. Of the days she used to nap at the park while Asta played with the other kids, of the days Asta would be wide awake at the crack of dawn, and he’d burst into this exact same bedroom, shaking her out of her slumber just because he wanted pancakes for breakfast. Asta feels his heart squeeze painfully, that sudden crash of nostalgia sending him into a spiral of negative feelings. 

Asta slowly comes to the right side of the bed, a light breeze blowing in through the window, hitting the nape of his neck. Right there, bundled beneath a thick, burgundy cover, was Licita. Asta took in every single detail about her — the dark, nasty circles beneath her eyes. The tangles in her ash hair, some of the strands becoming matted. The way her skin is losing its ivory shade, becoming sickeningly paler. The way that, despite being asleep, she doesn’t look to be resting at all. Not when her eyebrows are just slightly furrowed, her eyes are shut a little tighter than they would be had she been truly comfortable in her sleep, and her lips were in a frown.

Is she having a nightmare? Is she too cold? No, no — neither of those are plausible. Licita doesn’t get nightmares, and Asta isn’t saying that in the way a child typically would about their parent, seeing them as a high and mighty figure who could never be scared. It’s something he’s learned over the years. As they drifted away, she started dreaming less in her sleep, and her nightmares followed that trend. Soon enough, her sleep consisted of nothing but a pitch black void, lacking any sound, any sign of hope and aspirations. There was no way she was cold, because Licita loved the cold — hence why her window is currently open, allowing a stream of frigid morning air inside her room.

It’s just stress. Pure, agonizing stress, built from a multitude of things — endless hours at work, a lack of a social life, a shitton of bills to pay. Asta knew that, so he didn’t understand why he questioned it, trying to find a less heartbreaking reason for the upset expression on her face.

Asta wants to help her relax in her sleep before he goes - it’s the least he could do, but how?

Peeking out from the comforter, by where her thigh probably was beneath it, Asta notices her pinky sticking out. Asta shifts over just the slightest bit, linking his pinky with her — softly, to not wake her.

The contact makes that nasty feeling inside him wither away, something fuzzy and sweet taking its place. Asta takes another glance at her face, gasping a little when he sees the strain in her face relax into something much more at peace. Though the mere touch doesn’t dissipate every single mark of stress on her face, her eyebrows aren’t pulled together anymore, and her eyes aren’t shut tight. The deep frown on her face evens out, allowing her to look not exactly happy, but calm.

Asta doesn’t want to let go, not when his mother looks so much better than she just did seconds ago, but he has to get to school. Their neighborhood is nowhere close to his school, the commute being nearly two hours. Sometimes, Asta wishes he would have chosen a high school closer to Hage, but it’s not often he thinks that. This just happens to be one of the times where he does.

“I have to go, mom,” Asta whispers, putting on a small smile. “It’s the first day of school. You probably don’t remember,” He chuckles a little, though it lacks any true humor in it. “It’s okay, though. I know you’ve been working hard, so don’t worry about it. I’ll have a great day, so you can just worry about work and sleep. Okay?”

No response. Well, duh — she’s asleep. Asta chuckles to himself again, not sure as to why he was expecting some sort of response.

Slowly, he unlinks their pinkies, that fuzzy feeling beginning to melt away. Asta shakes his head, not wanting to feel uneasy right now. It’s the first day of school, he should be happy. Ecstatic, even. All of his friends, and his coach, will be there. There’s no need to brood over something like this.

After all, this is how it’s been for the past six years, hasn’t it?

☘︎︎

Most people hate Monday. 

Monday is that one constant in everyone’s life — it’s a gloomy cloud lingering over a bright week. As the week comes to a close, the sunshine begins to hide behind Monday’s brooding shadow, waiting to be completely blocked by its gloom, not fully reappearing until after the dreadful day. Each day after Monday, its nasty cloud would shift, the sun peeking through more and more as the week went on.

Asta wasn’t one of those people, though.

Asta saw Monday just as he saw Tuesday, Wednesday, and even Friday. Each day was an opportunity for him — an opportunity to become better, to become stronger. Every day, the sun was out. In his eyes, at least. No gray, gloomy cloud blocked the shine that brightened his days. If he were to think like that, then he wouldn’t be the boy he is today.

That’s why, as he strolls down the street, on his way to the train station, he looks up at the sky, suppressing the urge to hold a hand upwards, in front of the sun, symbolizing that he’s reaching for the stars. Or, more specifically, the brightest, largest star in the sky.

His dream.

Asta makes a left turn, indicating that he’s exiting the residential road of Hage, entering the commercial space. Down this block, rows of fast food joints, retail spots, and other buildings that offer services brighten up the city, the increase of LED lights in symbols and colorful exteriors giving Hage that welcoming, city vibe. Of course, the lights aren’t shining because of how light it is outside, but nonetheless, everything feels so vibrant and exciting. 

Against his leg, he feels his cellphone vibrate. Asta fishes through the pockets of his uniform pants, pulling out an old phone, its model dating back to the late 2000s. It has a thin crack along the top right corner, and a few tiny scratches across its entire surface, and even some on the back beneath the case, but otherwise, it’s in good condition. 

It’s a text message from Secré. 

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Good morning.

6:04 AM

Asta smiles, his thumbs typing back rapidly as he walks, a small blush on his face. Very rarely did Secré text him — she called it pointless, a waste of time and battery storage. Asta, on the other hand, liked to send text after text.

If he was being honest, though, he was also more of an “in-person” kind of guy. Or calls, at the very least. 

ME: HIIII GM SECRE!!!!!!!! I’M SO EXCITED FOR SCHOOL R U??? I CANT WAIT TO SEE U GUYS. wait u guys aren’t there yet, are you?

6:04 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Oh, my God, I forgot you like to scream over text, too. I’m getting a headache from just reading your message.

6:04 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I don’t know about the others, but I’m not there yet. I just texted because I knew you’d appreciate it, even though we’re about to see each other in about two hours.

6:04 AM

ME: wait… so you texted me to make me happy??

6:04 AM

ME: THATS SO SWEET AWWW

6:05 AM

ME: ILY TOO

6:05 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Don’t push your luck, Asta.

6:07 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I will turn DND on, and you know it.

6:07 AM

ME: WAIT NO IM SORRY

6:07 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Much better.

6:07 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Anyway, where are you at?

6:07 AM

ME: walking to the train station!!!! I just left the house so yeah it’ll take me a while to get to school

6:07 AM

ME: DON’T DO ANYTHING FUN WITHOUT ME 

6:07 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: What exactly would we do? It’s school, not a nightclub. 

6:08 AM

ME: cmon secré u know how the others are

6:08 AM

ME: they always do fun stuff on the first day!!!!

6:08 AM

ME: remember last year when we snuck into the vice principal’s office and drew a ding dong on his wall?

6:09 AM

ME: oh wait u weren’t there

6:09 AM

ME: Secré u should really stop isolating yourself from the group

6:09 AM

ME: we’re a family yknow

6:09 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Yes, because family members bond together by sneaking into offices they’re not authorized to go in, and drawing penises on the wall. 

6:10 AM

ME: dont be like that!!! it was funny okay

6:10 AM

ME: also don’t use the word “penis” it sounds so formal and weird lmao

6:10 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Oh, yes. Because “ding dong” is so much better.

6:10 AM

ME: BETTER THEN PENIS.

6:10 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧: Than*, Asta. It’s “Better than penis.” Hope this helps.

6:10 AM

ME: okay grammar police

6:11 AM

ME: didn’t know english class started at six in the morning

6:11 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Oh, you want to be sassy?

6:11 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Have fun being blocked.

6:11 AM

ME: wait no

6:11 AM

ME: SECRE STOP COME BACK

6:12 AM

ME: UR SO MEANNNNN

6:12 AM

ME: Asshole. (ಡ‸ಡ)

6:15 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Okay, I didn’t actually block you, but now you’re seriously getting blocked.

6:16 AM

Secré (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: Dumbass.

6:16 AM

ME: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

6:16 AM

ME: haha your not tricking me secré i know u still didnt block me

6:20 AM

ME: and dont correct me on the “your” part

6:20 AM

ME: wait u actually werent joking this time

6:32 AM

Well, that’s Secré for you. 

Asta wouldn’t have it any other way, though. This is just their dynamic, and, honestly, he’d be a little freaked out if anything about it changed. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see her, and the rest of his friends, too!

“So, who were you texting about penises?”

Asta jumps, his neck nearly snapping at the speed his head turns. Looking over his shoulder, Asta’s neighbor, Fanzell Kruger, shows a look of inquiry. It’s almost as though he’s not even concerned about the fact that Asta had a conversation about penises, but rather genuinely curious.

Fanzell chuckles, taking a small step away from Asta, still keeping in tune with their synchronized walking. “Woah, no need to get all jumpy. I was a teenager once, too, y’know. It’s normal, I won’t judge,” Right as he says that, he tilts his chin upward a little, scratching the stubble prickling his skin, a look of literal judgment swimming among his teal eyes. “Although, I’ve gotta say… doing that in broad daylight? I always knew you were a gutsy one, but that takes some real balls, man.”

“It wasn’t like that…” Asta says in a small voice, tilting his head to the left in an attempt to block the older man from seeing the red, blooming blush on his cheeks. “You took it completely out of context.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Asta notices Fanzell giving him a look of skepticality, an eyebrow raised, giving the impression that he doesn’t necessarily believe Asta. Asta fully faces him as he was doing before, trying his best to look stern, though he probably just looks like a horny kid caught red handed, thanks to the dark hue still dusting his cheeks.

“I’m serious, I was just talking about a stupid prank me and my friends did last year. We drew a dick on the vice principal’s office wall.”

“Did you, now?” Fanzell grins, a hint of nostalgia courses through him — or at least, that’s what it looks like. Fanzell glances up at the morning sky, becoming lost in his own world. Asta wonders how something like drawing a dick on a wall could bring an adult back to the old days, but, hey, what does he know? “My friends and I were a little something like your bunch,” He starts off, tapping the sharp edge of his chin. “Let’s see if I remember correctly. It was Secré, Luck, Vanessa, Finral, Charmy, and Magna, right? I know you definitely have more friends, but those are your main ones, yes?”

Asta’s blush dissipates at Fanzell’s words, his lips curving up into a genuine smile. It was nice to know that Fanzell remembered the people closest to Asta. It made Asta feel a little cared for, as strange as that may sound.

Though, when Asta really thinks about it, the fact that Fanzell knows his friends’ names, while Licita wouldn’t be able to name a single one aside from Secré, makes his stomach curdle. Just as fast as it had come, his smile falters, becoming a thin line across his face.

“Yeah, you got it,” Asta replies, hiding the bitterness lingering in his tone with an enthusiastic, somewhat-cheery voice, even if it probably sounded off considering the look of indifference across his features. “Did your friends pull pranks, too?” He asks, trying to get Fanzell to tell a funny story so his mind wanders away from the agonizing state it had just entered. 

Fanzell merely shrugs, his mind seeming to be on a different subject. “Eh, yeah. Reckless, stupid, sometimes high,” Then, he meets Asta’s eyes, the hand idly resting against his chin dropping to his side. The pace of their walking becomes slower, every decibel of sound around them somehow becoming muffled, almost as though the world is warning Asta of something. “So, how’s Licita? She doing well these days? I don’t see her often, so I hope she hasn’t dropped dead or something,” A chuckle follows that statement, but it’s empty, like Fanzell himself didn’t even find that funny, but just stated it to create a lighter mood.

Well, if anything, it put a complete damper on the mood.

Licita would want Fanzell to think she’s fine, Asta knows that. However, if there’s one thing Asta isn’t, it’s a liar. There were so many adjectives you could use to describe him, but dishonest just wasn’t one. Everything he said, he said with his chest, because he truly meant it. Things that were on his mind typically became vocalized (and rather loudly, too), because Asta feared nobody. It’s one of the traits that make up his core, his sense of self.

If Asta were to ever tell a lie, he’d need a damn good reason.

“I can’t say she’s doing too hot,” Asta tells him honestly, not once breaking the intense gaze they held with each other. “Work is getting the best of her.”

There — he leaves it at that.

“I see,” Is all Fanzell says, but despite the overall indifference in his tone, a spark of inquiry lingers beneath it.

Asta wishes he didn’t feel this way. Like every time someone brought up her name, a nasty feeling sank deep in the pits of his stomach, and clawed at his chest. Just hearing it, his heart aches, like it’s being slowly squeezed of its life force. It made him feel weak, despite the headstrong way he presented himself.

People saw him as the physical embodiment of devotion. If he wanted something, he put his all into it. Not once did he let something get him down, and yet, someone asks about his mother, and his body starts to feel constricted and achy, the spark in the green of his eyes being watered out by the dullness plaguing his mind, and his gleaming grin falling to a mere line, straight and still.

It’s not that he feels wrong for feeling this way — any kid should be worried about their mother, especially if said mother is working twelve to eighteen hour shifts, confined in a shitty office cubicle, hunched over a luminescent desktop, just to barely make above minimum wage. 

Asta just feels like he should be handling it better, like he should be able to keep his image up so that he can inspire others, so that he can continue pushing forward, striving to give Licita and himself a proper future. Dwelling over things helps no one, it’s better to simply push through everything, to punch through life until you reach where you want to be.

That’s how you get to the top.

“This is your train station, right?” Fanzell says after minutes of walking, gesturing his head toward an underground station. “I’ll catch you some other time.”

Asta looks up at Fanzell, not even realizing the man was still walking alongside him. Asta knew they took the same route up until here, but for some reason, he had thought Fanzell just parted ways. It was most likely due to the nearly suffocating silence lingering throughout the entire walk, Asta’s ears crowded with the conversations lingering throughout the busy street, the sounds coming through as stifled noise. A hypothetical wall surrounded Asta as he walked, lost in his thoughts of who he was, why he was the way he was, blocking out intruders from his internal epiphany.

Could it even be called that? An epiphany? Asta didn’t necessarily come to some shocking revelation. Asta knew how he was, he understood his nature, and he’s always hated how weak he became when it came to Licita — none of that was new information. It was all more so a disgusting reminder, if anything.

“Yeah, this is it,” Asta responds, forcing a smile. “Thanks for keeping me company, Fanzell.”

“No problem.”

☘︎︎

The golden gates of Clover Academy glisten under the sun, Asta’s reflection shimmering along the gilded bars molded into intricate swirls and patterns, making for a rather flamboyant, yet still elegant, entrance.

Asta pushes down those previous thoughts of self-deprecation, keeping them stored in the deepest, darkest part of his mind. Just up ahead, his entire future is standing, calling his name out for the heavens to hear. If he can’t be strong now, then when could he ever?

Clover Academy prides itself on being the greatest high school in Ace, and, if we’re being truthful, in the entire country. Looking at it from an objective standpoint, why else would it be directly named after the country itself, while every other high school took the name of its district, a historical figure, or a word that held weight? 

The Clover Country has considered Clover Academy to be a significant landmark in the country since Julius became the principal nearly two decades ago, with its influence becoming known across the entire country. Through the major events it holds each year, the school generates so much money, not only for itself, but the government as well, making it a pivotal establishment. 

It’s large enough to accommodate four-thousand, lacking that stuffy, crowded feeling that most average high schools had. One of Clover Academy’s charm was the amount of amenities. There was something in the school for everyone, no matter how unique the interest. That’s one of the things Asta likes about it — it’s so diverse, each student a fresh can of paint, ready to display their specific color.

Everyone has a color, Asta thinks. Some more vibrant, some less, but it’s there. Nobody has the exact same color — some may look nearly identical, appearing as a mere clone to the naked eye, but nobody is truly an exact replica of another being, even if there are billions on this earth. No matter how small, there’s always that one thing that differentiates someone from everyone else, and that’ll be the thing that shifts their color just the slightest bit, making it unique to them.

Clover Academy’s exterior was nothing short of extravagant, the five story manor exuding a more olden, royal kind of architecture, but it didn’t look completely outdated, still keeping up some modern pieces throughout its external design.

The entrance, just beyond the golden gate, is a beautiful garden, home to many fruits, flowers, and even small animals. Bunnies were the most common to see. Along the low cut, viridescent grass, rows of bushes full of fruits and flowers stretch all the way to the porcelain stairs, where the garden ends, and the sleek stone of the building begins. Tall trees are scattered across the acres of grassland, primarily hosting sweet berries and a fluorescent odor. Asta wishes he could take Nero to school — she’d love to sit atop the vibrant trees and nip at the berries, or nestle herself within the bushes, coating her fur in the floral scent.

The garden is split through with a cobblestone pathway, the rocks making up the path taking on geometric shapes. It leads up to the sleek stairs, five steps in total, before reaching the grand double doors of the building. The French-Style doors match the front gate, its gilded material shining against the sleek, white paint job. It sits between two marble pillars, with its glass panels practically glistening beneath the sun. 

Asta smiles, stepping through the open gates, the dark blue sneakers on his feet hitting heavily against the stone pathway. It’s then that he becomes aware of everyone around him, all adorned in Clover Academy’s upscale uniform. Lively chatter fills the autumn air, few leaves from the trees in the garden cascading onto shoulders and into hair, the scene so pure and wonderful. It feels like everything is going to be alright.

“Hey,” A familiar voice says amidst the muddle of conversations.

Asta brings his steps to an abrupt stop, pivoting on his heel in the direction of the voice, which just so happened to be the gilded gates he had just come through. Upon his eyes catching sight of the girl responsible for those words, a lively grin spreads across Asta’s face, his right dimple showing in his cheek, along with his fang-like snaggletooth.

“Secré!” Asta exclaims, voice bubbly, a familiar spark lighting the viridian shade of his eyes.

“Yes, hi, no need to yell,” Secré tells him, her voice monotone and flat, though a sliver of annoyance shines through. Bringing her index and thumb up to Asta’s face, Secré lets her lips pull into a small, nearly unnoticeable smile as she catches the skin of Asta’s dimpled cheek between her fingers, twisting the slightest bit. Asta yelps, glaring at her as he rubs his cheek while she walks off. Asta catches up to her, still holding the aching skin in his palm. “Consider that my way of jumpstarting your day,” She says cooly, the tiny, almost missable smile on her face back to its original state, pressed in a thin line, exuding a look of boredom.

Asta huffs, bringing his hands up to the back of his head, resting them there as he walks in step with Secré. “My day was already jumpstarted, you just wanted an excuse to be mean…” He grumbles beneath his breath, tilting his chin up the slightest bit, squinting at the sky. “Also, did you actually block me?”

“Yes,” Secré answers, curt.

“…Are you going to unblock me?”

“No.”

“Secré!”

“Fine, yes. Not anytime soon, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Asta smiles, pleased with that answer.

When they enter the school building, the familiar scent of polished floors, and crisp, freshly pressed paper travels through Asta’s nose, an onslaught of nostalgia coursing through his veins, through his very being. A hint of the citrusy, sweet scent from the garden wafts through the air, mingling wonderfully with the more warm, distinctive scents.

It brings Asta back to just a year ago on this same day, entering the building, skittish with a mixture of nerves and enthusiasm. Looking back at it, Asta remembers just how lithe his muscle was, his arms only bulging if he purposely flexed. To be fair, he was fresh out of middle school, but it’s just so mind-blowing to see how just a year could change so much. With hard work and underlying determination, you could get through anything, and Asta would stand by that motto until the day he died.

Not only was the smell nostalgic, but the view, too. Nothing had changed — and if it had, then Asta certainly didn’t notice.

The floors are marbled, intricate swirls of white and faint gold making up its design. The walls are purely white, not a single nick in the paint job. Along the walls, framed portraits hang high, framed in gold, and protected with glass. The portraits are of every staff member, evenly spread out across the walls, all around the first floor. Their names are etched in golden plates right beneath their portraits, truly honoring them. 

Due to it being the first day, the walls have yet to be bombarded with posters and fliers from the students, in relation to upcoming events and things of the like. It won’t be long, though, considering Clover Academy’s track record for the massive amount of clubs the school offers, along with the events that seemed endless. Asta gives it a week, at least. Two, if he’s being generous. 

There are no classrooms on the first floor — just staff offices, the cafeteria, and the auditorium. In the heart of the floor stood a four-foot-tall water fountain, its raw stone hand carved, a figure of the principal standing in the center of the stone monument. The stone-principal’s eyes are carved out, allowing for the water, pristine as the finest glaciers, to flow freely through into the bottom well of the fountain.

Carved on the bottom tier, on the exterior, is the principal’s name, along with his birthday and famous quote:

“No matter where you want to be in life, you can’t do it without results. Get results — show people why you deserve what you want, and everything else will fall into place with time.”

Asta lives by the motto, constantly going above and beyond just to produce those results that would get him to where he wanted to be. With each two hour practice, Asta pushes himself to present results, proof of his hard work. The steady growth of his muscles, the shift in his balance when he throws the football, the ability to maintain focus for a greater time than the last — these are all results, things that one can see and determine that Asta is capable of becoming someone great.

“Asta, Secrè!”

Their heads turn, the sight of their friends making Asta beam, delighted. Secré has a more monotone reaction, a small sigh of annoyance blowing out her nose.

“Guys, hi!” Asta says upon their arrival, while Secré simply nods a simple greeting.

Charmy holds her short arms out, a cupcake almost the size of her head resting on her palms, covered in a shiny, blue wrapper, with white frosting perfectly swirled on top. A large, cheeky smile adorns her baby-like face as she steps closer to Asta.

“Here, taste!”

“Uh-” Asta barely manages to say before the girl is on her tippy-toes, shoving the pastry into his nose. When she lets go, Asta catches it in his hand, preventing it from falling. Up close, the sickeningly sweet scent of vanilla bean frosting assaults his nostrils, a minor headache brewing. Even so, he sticks his tongue out, trying to reach the tip of his nose. A little bit of frosting gets on it, so he tastes. “It’s sweet,” He comments absentmindedly. “Maybe too sweet.”

“Asta, have you grown stronger?!” Luck shoves Magna to the side, earning him a complaint that he doesn’t register, too busy poking at Asta’s sleeved arm. “Woah, I feel some muscle mass under there! Let’s fight! Put that muscle to good use!”

Asta takes a step back, chuckling out of sheer nerves. “Well—”

“Ignore him, he’s a moron,” Magna interjects, threading his rough fingers through Asta’s hair, messing them up in the way he typically does. The touch is that of an older brother, and Asta subconsciously leans into it. When Magna’s done, his hand hovers toward Secré’s head, but she bats his hand away curtly. “I see Secré’s still a stick in the mud!”

Secré’s dull, flat gaze slowly travels to the side, a sign that her patience is running thin. “I hate it here.”

Vanessa’s manicured hand comes up to Magna’s shoulder, pulling him behind. In typical Vanessa fashion, the first two buttons of her shirt are undone, a lacy, red bra peeking from beneath the white fabric. Had Asta seen this display just a year prior, his face would be set aflame, matching the shade of the skimpy fabric — but after a year of being around her, he’s come to terms with her naturally raunchy nature, and doesn’t blush about it. Besides, there’s only one woman he’s going to let his face go red for!

“I see you still have no shame,” Secré mutters, too low for Vanessa to hear.

Vanessa pulls the cupcake from Asta’s hand, tossing it to Charmy, then wraps both of her arms around Asta and Secré, her soft hands resting on the back of their heads. Then, she pulls them right into her breasts. Nearly suffocated in soft, strawberry scented boobs, Asta and Secré try to pull away, but the older girl keeps them there, either completely unaware of their current suffering, or just not caring.

“I’ve missed you two so much!” Vanessa squeals, nuzzling them even further into her skin. “I mean, I know we’ve seen each other a ton this summer, and literally yesterday, but, still!” At last, her grip loosens on the two, allowing them to resurface for air. Both of them take in a generous amount of oxygen through their mouths, the gesture coming off as almost dramatic, but they truly needed it.

“Vanessa’s boobs are so big, they almost killed them!” Luck laughs.

Vanessa rolls her eyes, a little smirk on her face. “Shut up, they’re fine,” She digs through her cleavage, apparently in search of something. When she doesn’t find it, she turns to Magna, the smug look on her face morphing into a frown. “Where’s my wine, you virgin delinquent?”

Magna raises a brow, lavender eyes glaring with incredulity. “The hell if I know? It’s your flask, you raging alcoholic. Why the fuck would I have it?”

“Maybe because you like to get on my nerves?”

“What? If there’s anyone here who likes to get on people’s nerves, it’s this idiot,” Magna points a thumb at luck, who only giggles in response. “See? He’s proud of it.”

Vanessa opens her mouth to retort, but she freezes, pulling her hand out. A small flask comes with it, and her glossy lips stretch into a smile. “Oh, thank goodness. I need it for what we’re about to do. That damn Finral is going to give me gray hairs, I swear.”

At this, Asta tilts his head just the slightest bit, evergreen eyes brimming with curiosity. “Oh, yeah. Where is Finral? And what are we about to do?”

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it,” Secré says plainly, pivoting on her heels and walking away.

“Killjoy,” Vanessa mumbles, taking a long swig of her wine.

Asta waves, despite Secré not being able to see. “See you at chem, Secré!”

Secré holds a hand up, providing a half-assed wave before lowering it.

“We’re going to get Finral out of the janitor’s closet,” Vanessa tells them. “For some reason, he thought it’d be a good idea to conduct his most recent hookup there, and now they’re stuck and the girl is freaking out. That’s what he texted me, at least. So…” She gives the other three juniors a look, contemplation brewing behind violet irises. “We need someone to steal the keys from the janitor. Luck and Charmy are the sneakiest, but they’re also the most eccentric. If they get caught, things could go very left due to how they like to handle things. Plus, Luck is already on thin ice with the school. All those fights from freshman and sophomore year aren’t a good look.”

Charmy pouts, her mouth full of vanilla and pistachio. “I handle things very well, thank you very much!”

Vanessa ignores her. “And I doubt Magna would get the job done…”

“What?!”

“I’m definitely a little too tipsy for this, which leaves…” Purple meets green, and a satisfied grin spreads across Vanessa’s slightly flushed face. “You, Asta! You’re our only hope here,” She pats his shoulder, chuckling heartily.

Asta merely blinks, not even processing the hand that wraps around his wrist and pulls him along. When he looks up, he realizes it’s Luck, and the others are walking in sync with them. Internally, Asta wonders what time it is, considering class is probably about to start. Though, when he thinks about it, the plan doesn’t seem that time consuming — just steal the keys, unlock the closet, then return the keys. How difficult could that be?

“Okay, the janitor is typically polishing up the second floor bathrooms at this time, so, Asta, you go snatch the keys off of his belt hoop. When you get them off, come to the stairs and we’ll run to the closet and retrieve Finral. After he’s freed, we run back up to Luck, who’ll be still at the stairs during this entire endeavor considering he’s the fastest one out of us, aside from you, and give him the keys. He’ll return them to the janitor, telling him that he found the keys on the floor or something, and then we’re finished!” Charmy explains.

Okay, well, forget what he just said about “how difficult could that be.”

To be fair, it’s technically not all that confusing. It’s just… extra. Asta gets that the janitor won’t just give a bunch of kids his keys without good reason, and they don’t want to snitch on Finral by admitting that he’s been in the dude’s closet making out with some random girl, but, come on.

Then again, Asta has never been one to question many things. Give him a task, and he’d typically do it, no questions asked. This is really no different. Plus, it’s to save his friend.

(That wording was really dramatic, but still.)

“I’ll do it!” Asta agrees, enthusiastic. 

They’re at the bottom of the huge, spiral, marble staircase. There are three in the school, plus two elevators. 

“Alright, be quick!” Magna says.

Asta nods, rushing up the steps at an insane speed, even with the weight of his backpack. Thanks, football practice. Well, more specifically; thanks, Coach Yami. Asta had always been proficient when it came to physical extortion (running, throwing, lifting, etc), but after joining Clover Academy’s football team last year, his talents blossomed, like a beautiful flower under the burning sun. With enough heat, it blooms.

Considering the size of the school, Asta almost gets lost, so he has to slow down his pace — being away for three months could make you forget some things. Yeah, he was in the field for summer practice, but he never stepped foot in the school building during that time. Eventually, though, he finds the bathroom, spotting it just down the hall. The janitor is standing in the door, facing the inside with what seems to be a mop in his hand. There are wireless earbuds in his ears, and Asta can see the sparkling of the keys beneath the light fixtures on the roof.

Smiling in satisfaction, Asta begins to walk in that direction — but then he wonders how exactly he’s going to just steal the keys off of the janitor’s pants. This revelation causes him to tread even slower, his mind doing its absolute best to supply any possible ideas on how to retrieve those damn keys to the closet. Asta wasn’t really the thinking type, so it’s no surprise when not a single solution appears. That doesn’t stop him from getting frustrated, though.

“Asta?”

The voice is sweet, it’s soft, and it’s so, so familiar. Asta whips his head around so fast, he’s a bit surprised he didn’t get whiplash. Regardless, upon seeing the beautiful angel whom the voice belongs to, every single memory of what exactly he was supposed to be doing completely buries itself to the back of his mind, his thoughts becoming overloaded with her.

Sister Lily.

Asta approaches her with efficiency, a vibrant blush spreading across his face. Three months without seeing her, three months without being able to look into alluring eyes the shade of cobalt, electrifying and bold, yet calm and gentle all the same. Three months without watching her comb through her waist-length hair, watching it shine beneath the light. Three months without seeing the small beauty mark that dotted her otherwise spotless, fair skin, just on the corner of her left eye, and thinking about how it made her all the more beautiful.

Oh, how Asta loved this woman. Sister Lily’s beauty was incomparable, putting her against anyone simply wouldn’t be fair. Everything she did, she did with a certain grace and softness that simply couldn’t be imitated. When she spoke, Asta swore he heard a thousand songbirds harmonizing among the wind. When she moved, Asta swore he saw elegant swans gliding across the waters of a crystal clear lake. 

So, Asta knew the one thing he had to say after all this time. The one thing that’s been on his mind, the one thing that he’s been dreaming of since the age of four. It only made sense to ask now, after all these days parted. 

Now on one knee, Asta looks up at Sister Lily, viridescent eyes full of love, of adoration, of desperation — everything that made up what Asta felt for the woman in front of him, looking down at him with those eyes the shade of the most precious sapphire, lashes long and fluttering with every blink.

“Sister Lily,” Asta begins, full of heart and spirit. “Will you marry me?!”

“No, Asta.”

“H-Huh?!”

Sister Lily sighs, clutching the clipboard to her chest with one hand, and extending the other. “Please get up. I told you, this isn’t appropriate. Especially not at school,” She reprimands, a strong tone of disappointment lacing those words. “Up, now.”

Asta takes her hand in his, savoring the soft feel as he pulls himself to his feet. Sister Lily lets go once he’s up, and Asta mourns the loss of contact. If only he could hold her hand forever…

“Why’d you say no?” Asta complains, his expression matching that of a two-year-old who was just refused for the first time.

“I’ve been saying no for the past decade, Asta,” Sister Lily explains softly, tucking a stray strand of silky, raven hair behind her ear. “I don’t understand why we need to have this conversation almost every day. I’m far too old for you.”

“But—!”

Sister Lily begins walking, the clack of her heels almost rhythmic against the marble floor. “No, Asta,” It’s stern and sharp, no room left for debate. Asta kind of wishes he didn’t find that so attractive, considering it was another rejection. 

Asta catches up to her, mimicking her pace as he strides beside her. “Okay, but I’m not giving up! I’ll try again tomorrow!” Then, before she can scold him for that, he asks, “Where are you going?”

“To the student council office. I have a student I want to say hello to. I already know you’re going to ask to come along, and that’s fine, but no more proposing, and please don’t be disruptive. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Asta salutes jokingly, getting a chuckle out of the woman. 

☘︎︎

The office is a nice size, exuding elegance in a simple, comfortable way. An elongated, oval shaped table, marble like the floor, is centered in the room, accompanied by about ten velvety, black armchairs with gilded legs. The large windows against the off-white walls allowed natural light in, muting the shine from the modern, geometric styled chandelier above the table, golden, with white crystals dangling. 

A row of thick books is lined up nicely in a tall, five-shelf bookshelf the color of freshly brewed espresso, standing beside a small, rectangular table matching its shade, both just beneath the windows. A vibrant green plant in a white pot rests atop that table on one end, and a large, expensive printer sits on the other end. 

There’s a coffee station in the right corner of the room — a three-tier cart with a matte black coffee machine, complemented by white, small mugs resting atop the smooth, wooden surface. Each mug has writing on it — small, black scripture across the middle of the white porcelain. Asta is too far to make out what the writing says, but he can tell each mug has a different word on it. The cabinet that makes up the third tier of the cart has a mesh window, allowing Asta to see the tall, glass jars with coffee beans filled up halfway in each one, and the bags of what Asta could only assume to be different kinds of coffee. In the middle tier sat different creams, milk, and sugars.

And mounted on the wall, right beside the coffee station, though a bit higher, was a flat-screen television. It had to be the biggest television Asta’s ever seen! His television at home wasn’t even a quarter the size, and it wasn’t a flatscreen, either.

Wafting through the cool air of the office, smells of jasmine and fresh books intermingle, making Asta subconsciously inhale even further. Oh, there’s a tinge of espresso, as well!

“Yuno, good morning,” Sister Lily says. 

Asta blinks, his features etched with confusion upon hearing the foreign name. Standing by the coffee station, a student (must be, he’s wearing the uniform) is making himself a cup. The student turns, a stoic expression, one resembling Secré’s, across his face. 

“Sister Lily,” The student — Yuno, presumably — greets warmly, words coming out gentle despite the neutral look.

Wait, he calls her “Sister,” too? Huh. Asta didn’t think any of the other students in the school have known her since she was a nun. 

Sister Lily approaches Yuno, and Asta follows her. From this distance, Asta has a better look at him, subconsciously taking in every detail. For one, he’s tall. Asta has to crane his neck upward in order to look into his eyes, and, wow, speaking of eyes — they’re beautiful. Yuno’s eyes are a golden shade, rivaling the deep hue of sweet honey. Monolid eyes are framed with long, full eyelashes, a jet black color that matches the wild hair atop his head. It looks as though it’s been blown by wind, yet each strand seems perfectly placed all the same. It looks fluffy, soft.

Asta must admit, he’s a handsome guy.

“It’s good to see you again,” Sister Lily smiles kindly, eyes filled with fondness. Then, she takes a small step back, emphasizing Asta’s presence. “This is Asta, the boy I’ve mentioned occasionally,” Blue eyes glance at Asta. “Asta, this is Yuno.”

“Asta, huh?” Yuno says, almost calculating. The warmth in his tone becomes lukewarm, nearly stale. He runs his smooth, pale fingers along his jaw, almost in a condescending manner, as though he was bored, looking down at Asta with those captivating eyes. “Ah, yes. I know a bit about you. You don’t understand boundaries, your grades are downright awful, and you’ve taken quite a few trips to the detention office. Oh, and I can’t forget your suspension,” Every single word comes out smoothly, almost practiced, like he’s been waiting for this moment. Then, as if he hadn’t just mocked Asta right in his face, his lips curve up into a stupidly handsome smile, the hand that was just caressing his sharp jawline now extended toward Asta. “Yuno Grinberryall, a pleasure to meet you.”

Every vein in Asta’s forehead threatens to burst, his teeth grinding against one another and nostrils nearly flaring. Asta typically took rude insults with a grain of salt, learning that the best way to combat any negative opinions about him was to simply earn results, proving himself through actions rather than words. This guy, though, he just has that extra edge about him — the way the words drip off his tongue so casually, and yet he smiles in Asta’s face and pretends as though he hadn’t just attempted to make a fool out of him, it makes Asta fume. 

Asta steps forward, despite their prominent height difference, hands curled into tight fists, his own nails just a bit of pressure away from drawing blood from his calloused palms. “Listen here, you—”

A soft hand comes to his shoulder, catching his attention. Though he doesn’t completely turn his head, his eyes glance over to see Sister Lily, a pleading expression on her face. Asta knows what she’s asking, even with the lack of words. When you’ve grown up with someone for ten years, you learn how they communicate with more than just words. With Sister Lily, it’s all gentle touches and expressive eyes. Asta loves that about her.

Right now, she’s asking him to stop. There’s no need to cause a scene right now, it’ll only make things worse. Asta understands, and un-clenches his fists, taking a step back. It’s greatly appreciated, Asta can tell when Sister Lily shows him a small smile, removing her hand.

Calming himself down, Asta allows his eyes to shut for a slight moment, taking in a breath of air, allowing the jasmine scent to soothe him. After exhaling, his eyes open, a strained smile on his face.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Despite his efforts, his left eye still twitches in slight irritation.

Yuno remains still, that suave smile gracing his features as he patiently waits for Asta’s hand to connect with his. Asta’s eyebrows furrow, and his eyes narrow, telepathically saying “no way,” but Sister Lily slightly nudges him with her shoulder, so Asta relents, giving the taller a curt handshake before retracting his hand.

“What, you think I’ve got the plague or something? Yuno laughs lightly, pulling his hand back down to his side. Asta glowers at him.

“W-Well, I think it’s good you two got to meet!” Sister Lily says brightly, clearly trying to ease the palpable tension hanging in the air. “Fun fact: I babysat you both when I was sixteen!”

Envy begins to crawl up Asta’s veins, the nasty feeling of distaste swelling within him. It’s a stupid reason to be jealous — Sister Lily was a teenager who needed a job, she couldn’t turn down the money — but for some reason, Asta hates knowing that this asshole of all people had the pleasure of knowing Sister Lily for just as long as he has. Asta knew his face was growing more bitter by the second, the glare he was giving Yuno had to match that of a lion stalking a zebra. Even so, he wouldn’t let up, a deep fury burning behind the forest shade of his eyes.

“Is that so?” Yuno chuckles. “What a coincidence.”

Asta really, really wants to punch him.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to execute that idea, as his attention is instantly pulled away by a sudden bang. When he turns his head, he’s met with the sight of the door wide open, his friends standing in the doorway.

“Please don’t do that to the door!” Sister Lily scolds lightly, shock prominent in her tone.

“Hey, pipsqueak — you were supposed to get those keys for us! What’re you doin’ canoodling in here?!” Magna shouts, pointing at Asta accusingly.

Oh, right. He had completely forgotten about that.

Asta chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Well, uh—”

“Excuse me,” Yuno cuts in, stepping toward the group. Their eyes dart to him. “This room is strictly for student council and school staff only. Please exit.”

“Hah?” Magna tilts his head, giving Yuno a look like he just said something disrespectful. “I don’t know who you think you are, pretty boy, but our friend is here and we need to speak to him, so I’d suggest you move out our way.”

Yuno steps closer to Magna, nearly chest to chest. Their height difference truly shines through then (though not as prominent as Asta and Yuno’s), and Magna gets even more pissed off. 

“I’m the president of the student council. I hold just as much authority as the vice principal of the school,” Yuno smirks — a smirk that just screams “I’m better than you,” and not only does it agitate Magna, but Asta feels his hand close into a fist by his side again, the vibrant shade of viridian in his eyes dulling. “As I’ve said before, you need to leave.”

Vanessa and Luck both step up beside Magna, a smile on their faces, though there’s clear irritation behind it. 

“I can appreciate a pretty guy, but you’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you?” Vanessa laughs, violet eyes looking Yuno up and down, sizing him up despite her short stature in comparison to his own. 

“I’m just doing my job,” Yuno purses his lips, demeanor remaining calm. “Are all of you guys this… overdramatic? For lack of a better word.”

Luck and Vanessa share a glance before cackling, seeming to be amused by Yuno’s condescending nature.

“You’re funny, I like you!” Luck proclaims, fixing himself into a fighting stance. A manic grin stretches across his face. “Let’s fight!”

“Hard pass.”

“Aw, why not?! Are you not strong enough?”

Yuno shrugs. “More like I’m not stupid enough.”

Magna grabs Yuno by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to his height. “Listen here, jackass, you can keep up that “cool guy” act all you want, but every single one of us, me included, could drop-kick you with ease, so I’d suggest you tone down the attitude.”

“Guys, that’s enough!” Sister Lily walks over to the rowdy crowd, and Asta follows her, unclenching his fist. “This has gone too far for no reason. Guys, I’m sorry, but Yuno’s right. You cannot be in here unpermitted. If you’re here for Asta, then please wait outside. And Yuno, there was no need to insult them like that. Now, apologize to each other.”

Magna scoffs, letting go of Yuno’s collar. “You apologize first, asshole.”

“Sure, I’m mature enough to take accountability anyway — but I understand that may be a foreign concept to you,” Yuno says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, portraying that smug, stupid smirk.

“Why, you—!”

“I apologize.”

“Forget it, I’m not apologizing to this son of a bitch.”

Sister Lily sighs, rubbing her temples. “Magna, come on. I’m not asking for much. Just apologize so we can all move on.”

“Yeah, come on, Magna! Don’t be a baby!” Luck laughs, slapping Magna’s back excessively hard. 

Magna glares at the blond, but says nothing, a heavy exhale coming out rough through his nose. He looks up at Yuno, his eye twitching the slightest bit. “I’m… sorry,” That last part is so strained, it almost seemed like it hurt him physically to say.

“See?” Sister Lily smiles tiredly. “Was that so hard to say?”

“Yes,” Magna grumbles.

Vanessa grins, looping her arm around Magna’s shoulders. “Alright, let’s go, virgin delinquent. Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Aquaria.”

“It’s not a problem, sweetheart.”

As the juniors begin to file out, chatter emerging between them, Charmy remains in place, clutching a croissant in her hand, fingertips digging into the plush bread. Looking up at Yuno, the turquoise in her eyes glistens, as though they’ve been illuminated by a thousand stars. Though her cheeks are naturally a faint pink, they seem to have darkened, blossoming from a blooming feeling in her chest.

Asta grimaces at the sight. Typically, he didn’t judge who his friends fell for. Hell — he didn’t really have a place to judge, considering he was in love with a woman eleven years older than him. Even so, he did want the best for them, and he knew Charmy could do so much better than that guy. What did she see in him? Yeah, he was tall and handsome, but Charmy isn’t that shallow… is she?

“My prince…” Charmy utters beneath her breath, hearts forming in her pupils. 

Yuno blinks, looking down at the abnormally short girl. “I’m sorry, did you need something?”

“Your hand in marriage.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, time to go!” Asta interjects, grabbing Charmy by the shoulders and forcing her out the door. Charmy tries to wiggle out of his hold, wailing like a spoiled child, but Asta doesn’t let up. He looks over his shoulder, showing an apologetic smile to Sister Lily. “Sorry for the trouble, Sister! We’ll be going now!”

Sister Lily giggles, waving at the boy. “It’s quite alright, Asta. Have a good day.”

“You, too! I love you! Bye!”

Once they’re out of the office, Asta’s grip on Charmy’s shoulders lets up. Charmy huffs, delivering a kick to Asta’s shin. Despite the little damage it does, Asta lets out a tiny hiss out of pain.

“How could you drag me away from my prince?! We were destined to be together! Couldn’t you feel the chemistry, Asta? Huh? Couldn’t you?!”

“No, I couldn’t,” Asta deadpans. “You could do better than him.”

Vanessa, Magna, and Luck all nod in unison. “Agreed,” They say together. 

Charmy crosses her arms over her chest, pouting. “Whatever! I’m gonna get my prince, just you wait!”

Noticing that Finral is still missing, Asta changes the subject. “So… you guys still didn’t get him out the janitor’s closet yet?”

“Well, you didn’t get the keys! We sent Charmy instead, and she screwed up and the dude caught her,” Magna explains, followed by a dragged out sigh. “She bribed her way out of trouble with a donut, but we still didn’t get the keys. Miraculously, Finral still got out. Just not on our accord. Still, why’d you ditch us? Not manly at all!”

Asta shrugs, looking off to the side guiltily. “I couldn’t pass up spending time with Sister Lily. Plus, he still got out, so all’s well. How did he get out, though?”

“Turns out the girl was claustrophobic and ended up kicking the door down,” Luck tells him.

“Yeah, then Mr. Francois caught them and called the janitor down to the office,” Vanessa adds.

Poor Finral. Asta wishes he could feel more bad than he actually does, but Finral should know better. 

☘︎︎

Clover Academy has many spots for lunch, the most popular three being; cafeteria, backyard, rooftop.

Asta and his friends fancy the backyard, as their conversations flow much more freely in the outdoors (as weird as that sounds), and Asta claims it’s good to get some sunlight. If he’s being completely honest, though, that was mainly directed towards Secré.

The school backyard is as luxurious as everything else, its landscape essentially matching that of the front entrance. Across the entire area, white, wooden tables were sprawled about, varying in size to accommodate all friend group sizes. Surrounding the tables were flowerbeds, blossoming blooms bursting with color, conspicuous against the earthy greens surrounding them. Tall trees carry fruit amongst their leaves, that sweet scent drifting throughout the fresh, warm, early September air.

Just in the heart of the garden, a pond sits, the shape of a four-leaf clover, glimmering beneath the sunlight. Koi fish lazily float about, gliding between beautiful water lilies and lotus blooms.

Everyone at the lunch table relays the events of earlier today to Secré, who had left early. As everyone shares their piece, Secré prods at her vanilla bean ice cream with her silver spoon, stirring it around in its porcelain bowl. It smells heavenly.

“So glad I left,” She comments, bored.

“Seriously, a week of community service?” Finral groans, dragging a hand down his face. “That time could be spent doing something much more worthwhile!”

Secré raises an eyebrow. “That being…?”

Finral scoffs. “Uh, hello? Making out with hot girls! Come on, Secré, get with the program.”

Asta turns his head, facing the girl beside him. “Where’d you go, anyway?” Genuine curiosity in his eyes, his cheeks appearing chubbier as he chews a spoonful of chicken parmesan. “I forgot to ask in chem.”

Secré’s eyes glance slightly upward, the stirring in her bowl coming to a slow pause. It seems as though she’s trying to recall. “I went to the lab. That was all.”

Charmy tilts her head inquisitively, gnawing on her chicken sandwich. “The lab? Why?”

“I like to spend time there, and nobody’s there that early. Well, except for Lumiere, he’s always—”

“Wait, Lumiere?! As in, the boy you’ve had a crush on since your childhood?!” Asta shouts, a bright grin stretching across his face. “Secré, that’s great! You— ow!”

Secré latches her fingers onto the skin of Asta’s cheek, pulling and twisting to ensure maximum pain. Asta shrieks, pulling her wrist in a futile attempt to stop her.

“Okay, okay, sorry! Ah, Secré, stop! Seriously! Stop!”

The girl smirks, twisting once more to ensure Asta gets the memo before letting go. Asta glares at her, rubbing his red, sore cheek. 

“Wait, crush?” Vanessa smirks, leaning over the table. “I’ve never heard about this. Go on.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Secré says simply, despite the rosy tint blooming across her pale cheeks. To avoid speaking even further, she shoves a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, averting her eyes. 

Vanessa sits back in her seat, though the knowing smile on her face doesn’t falter. For Secré’s sake, they drop the Lumiere topic as a whole, the conversation shifting to various different topics, some of which were a little questionable.

(i.e: “is it gay to kiss your homies if you have socks on?”)

(Magna, Luck, Vanessa say no; Asta, Secré, Finral say yes; Charmy is completely distracted.)

A couple of laughs, occasional light-hearted arguments, and a bunch of food-swapping occurs at the table. Asta knows he wouldn’t have it any other way, his friends are irreplaceable. 

When you’re having fun, forty-five minutes goes by rather quickly. It feels like they’ve discussed every topic in the world by the time their food is finished, and some students from other tables start heading back inside, preparing to go to the next class. 

As they start finishing up, ending their last conversation about some random show they’ve all been binging (aside from Secré, of course, because why would she? — also, thanks to Finral for sharing his streaming services passwords with the rest of them), the table buzzes. It’s Finral’s phone.

Mulberry eyes scan across the lit-up device, seconds of silence wafting through the air before Finral’s lips curve into a smile, his attention turning back to everyone at the table. 

“Alright! So, guys, good news — my brother and parents are going to be gone this weekend, so I get to throw a party! There’ll be hot babes, video games, good food — oh, did I mention babes?!”

“You? Throwing a party?” Secré raises a thin brow. “Aren’t you too much of a wuss to pull a stunt like that?”

Finral glares at her, sincerely offended. “No! I’ve literally invited you to every party I’ve thrown! Plus, Vanessa always helps me clean up, so I never get caught.”

Secré turns her head to Vanessa. “You do…? That’s… oddly useful of you.”

“Yep — Finral’s parents have this amazing wine collection hung against their wall, and I get to try them all!” Vanessa squeals.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink out of those.”

“Then what’re they there for?”

“Decoration.”

Finral tilts his head a bit, inquisitive. His eyes flick back and forth between Secré and Asta. “I know you probably don’t give much thought about these types of things, Secré, because that’s just how you are… but Asta, I always invite you, too, and you always say you can’t. Why? It’ll be fun!”

Asta blinks, the table going uncharacteristically silent as they await an answer.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go, because he does — but he thinks about this morning, the image of his overworked mother beneath her covers, her skin losing its color, stained with black circles beneath her eyes, her hair a knotted mess. If Asta were to just go out, she might worry even more, and the last thing Asta wants is for her to be burdened with more stress.

Sure, he had a good chance of just going, but to think of betraying her trust like that… he just couldn’t. Trust was one thing he prided himself on — he trusted others easily, and he wanted others to trust him, too.

Maybe they hadn’t talked about this sort of thing yet, but he knew her well enough, even if the last six years have been an era in which they were distant and couldn’t seem to ever bond like they used to do. Yeah, she’s a little carefree and lets him do a lot for a fourteen-year-old, but Asta knows there are limits to it, and a party with a bunch of highschools whose ages go up to twenty is just one of those things that are off limits.

“I just don’t think I’m allowed to,” Asta settles on saying, hoping they drop it.

Magna scoffs, the sound almost full of humor. “You don’t think you’re allowed to? Does your mom let you go out or not?”

Asta frowns. “We haven’t talked about that kind of stuff yet. I’d just rather stay home. I wouldn’t want to worry her.” 

A giggle comes from Luck, his head tilted and the glint in his eyes exhibiting both amusement and confusion. “How could someone who’s never there be worried about you?”

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Magna and Vanessa exclaim in unison, their eyes incredibly wide.

“What?” Luck shrugs, still smiling.

Asta feels his body tremble, his head lowering to the point where his hair falls over his eyes. Gaze locked onto the table beneath him, he feels his breathing pick up, fists clenching on his lap. Asta knows his friends can be a bit uncouth at times, but there has always been a clear boundary when it comes to his mother. It was clearly a sensitive subject for him, which they knew was serious considering Asta took very little to heart, so they knew not to cross that road.

“Insensitive little shit,” Secré mutters, bringing a soft, petite hand to Asta’s upper back, slowly rubbing up and down. Asta’s excessive shaking simmers down as he raises his head just a bit to look at Secré, those scarlet eyes that typically hold little emotion brimming with empathy. She smiles the tiniest bit in a way that’d be unnoticeable to anyone but Asta. 

“Asta, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Luck says, causing Asta to fully raise his head, glaring at the boy almost murderously. Even with the smile on his face, Asta can see the apologetic look in his eyes. “I just meant you shouldn’t allow yourself to be held back from a teenage experience because you’re too worried about your overworked mom. If she’s going to be gone, then what’s the point in not going? It’s not like she’ll know.”

“Luck,” Secré warns.

“I kind of agree with him, though,” Vanessa hums, followed by a long swig of her drink. “Of course, I don’t agree with how it came out, but… you can’t keep skipping Finral’s parties simply because you’re worried about what she’ll say. She’s too busy to worry about what you’re doing. And if she does end up finding out, just have a talk with her. By the way you’ve described her before, she seems like a very understanding person.”

“She is,” Asta nods, contemplating his friends’ words.

Should he just go?

“So I’m sure she’ll understand!” Vanessa says cheerily.

“Look, I’m not going to pressure you into going, okay? Just… give it a good thought. We’d really like it if you were there for once, even if it’s just going to be this one time,” Finral smiles, genuine and kind, though there’s a little sadness in his eyes. “You’d definitely be the life of the party if you were there,” He adds with a slight chuckle.

Luck perks up. “Oh, yeah! You can do a bunch of entertaining stuff! Remember when you held up ten desks at once?”

“Yeah, and you did it while balancing on one foot on a basketball!” Magna adds.

Oh, yeah — he did do that, didn’t he? Well, he doesn’t particularly remember why, considering how random it is (seriously, why did he do that?), but, yeah, it got a good laugh out of them. Well, the part where he fell on his ass after about a minute. Still, it was pretty impressive he could do that for so long.

“And when you balanced my wine bottle on your nose!” Says Vanessa, holding up her current bottle for emphasis. “That was cool, kiddo.”

That, too. Seriously, does he just do a bunch of random shit when he’s around them without realizing it? Huh.

“I guess it was,” Asta chuckles lightly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Oh, oh!” Luck exclaims. “And when you drove Magna’s motorcycle and crashed it into that tree! It was so funny!”

“You did what?!”

“Wait, that was Magna’s motorcycle—?!” Asta shrieks. “Luck, you told me it was yours! Huh, that explains why you “forgot the keys” and we had to jumpstart it…”

“And you told me that Finral did it, but not to confront him about it because he’d cry if I did!”

“Wait, what?! Why’d you blame me?!”

Luck laughs. “Because it was the most believable option!”

Finral gasps. “How’s that believable?! I can drive, I drive you morons places all the time! Plus, I wouldn’t cry!”

“Nah, you definitely would,” Vanessa shrugs.

“Totally,” Secré agrees.

“Oh, come on!”

Laughter erupts at Finral’s expense, even from Asta himself. Looking around at each of his friends, their unhinged cackling echoing throughout the garden, eyes full of glistening tears deriving from joy, Asta realizes that what he has is so special, and he should be able to go to Finral’s party with them. They’re asking him to, and they have so many times prior to today.

Sure, they’ve done many other things together, but a party is like the pinnacle high school experience, and his friends wanted him to experience it with them.

Maybe he wasn’t putting enough faith in his mother — maybe he’s thinking too harshly of her, and she’d be completely fine with the idea, not losing stress over it at all. All Asta has to do is shoot her a quick text telling her of his whereabouts, and get a response back after hours (or even an entire day) saying that he’s fine to do whatever. Because that’s the type of person she is, right?

No, it’s not. Who is he fooling? That’s not even close to the type of person she is. Despite her tolerance for a lot of things, Asta knew this would be something they needed to talk about, and only God knew when that would be considering the way her schedule was.

All Asta can do is simply just go and hope she never knows about it.

But it’s the trust part that tears Asta up, because he holds himself to a high standard, and doing that would be dishonest and kind of shitty. In his opinion, at least. 

Well, he’ll figure it out before the weekend.

☘︎︎

It’s about to be six o’clock. Asta and Secré are just now exiting the school — Asta’s football practice had just ended at five-thirty and he spoke with his coach for a while before changing and leaving. Secré gave him a little complaint about him taking too long, but Asta waved it off and promised to be quicker tomorrow. Honestly, the fact that she waits for him almost every day after school makes Asta a little warm inside. Despite her attitude, she really is a sweetheart.

“I think it’s fucked up what Luck said,” Secré says amidst the silent evening, completely catching Asta off guard. 

Truth be told, Asta had buried that entire ordeal in the back of his mind, because that comment hurt too much.

How could someone who’s never there be worried about you?

Thing is, it wasn’t the insensitivity that caused him internal grief, but the fact that he had asked himself that same exact question countless times since middle school. The fact that he had the ability to think such a thing, completely disregarding all she’s done for him, all she’s doing for him by keeping a roof on his head, keeping the hot water running and the lights on in their home. How could he question whether or not she worried for him?

“I think it’s fucked up,” The girl beside him repeats, eyes glancing up at the darkening sky, hues of bold orange and deep navy blue intermingling, clouds drifting west. “But I don’t disagree with him. Or with Vanessa.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Asta says through gritted teeth, scarred hands curling into tight fists.

Scarlet eyes avert their gaze from the beautiful sunset above, their eyes falling upon a far less gorgeous sight — a sight that bore evergreen eyes and a sour expression. “I know your mom better than they do, so I think it’s best if you hear this from me rather than them. You and Ms. Licita are so similar in such different ways, it’s astounding. Both of you portray yourself as this carefree, strong-willed character, and I’m not going to sit here and say that you aren’t that, because you both are, but beneath all that, you both care too much.”

How could someone be carefree and care too much at the same time? Even Asta knew those two were completely conflicting words.

“Listen,” Secré continues. “I think it’s plausible to believe that Ms. Licita wouldn’t want you rotting away worrying about what she thinks. You’re so afraid of placing a burden on her shoulders, making her carry a heavier weight than the one already weighing her down, that you don’t allow yourself to do anything that could possibly risk that. You don’t want to snap that thin thread connecting the relationship you guys have, and I can’t blame you, but I just want you to look at it a different way.”

“Secré, you…” Asta trails off, not exactly knowing his next choice of words just yet. Typically, he had a comeback on the tip of his tongue, ready to shout out to the world, but now, his mind is too confused, thoughts too muddled to form into coherent words. Yet, he manages to say, “You don’t get it,” His voice is rough around the edges, a tone he rarely used. It felt raw, full of emotion. Something shifted in the scarlet of Secré’s eyes upon hearing it. He adds, “You will never get it.”

Secré nods curtly, almost as though she had been expecting that sort of response. “I will never get it,” She agrees, voice steady, not once breaking her gaze away from viridescent irises. “That doesn’t mean my words aren’t worth listening to.”

Asta hates this — hates feeling so many stupid emotions that bring him down, making him feel weak and downright pathetic. Asta has always been the type where he operated on a single emotion, and it was evident what he was feeling through his actions and words. Whatever main emotion he was feeling, whether it be anger, joy, sadness, or whatever, he acted on it. With joy, he’d be loud and rambunctious, as he typically was. With anger, his voice became low and nearly raspy, fists clenching and teeth grinding, the veins in his muscles threatening to pop out. With sadness, he allowed himself a quick cry, and he could easily speak on what made him sad.

This, though — when his emotions are fighting for dominance, and it’s not simple ones like joy or anger, it agitates him so, so much — which is another emotion to add into the already muddy mix. Not knowing how to deal with complex emotions sucks so much, and he doesn’t want to deal with it — he just wants to push through life without these stupid complications.

“I’m not saying that if you do go to the party and she finds out, she won’t be upset. It would be a reasonable reaction for her to be a little mad. What I’m getting at is that Ms. Licita getting angry isn’t going to break that relationship you two have, no matter how much you think it will. I know your relationship feels nonexistent, but you have to trust me when I say it’s there, and it’s stronger than a flimsy thread. Not only do you need to trust me, but trust her, too. Trust that she cares about you, trust that she loves you. Trust that she’ll be okay, even if it doesn’t seem that way. That’s what’s got you so worried, isn’t it? That you’ll betray her trust? Well, it’s a two-way street, Asta. If you want her to trust you, you’ve got to trust her, too.”

Sure, he had a good chance of just going, but to think of betraying her trust like that… he just couldn’t. Trust was one thing he prided himself on — he trusted others easily, and he wanted others to trust him, too.

He trusted others easily.

Secré’s entire heartfelt speech didn’t give him complete clarity, but it opened his eyes a little. Well, moreso that it shoved the fact that he was a hypocrite right in his face. If he prided himself on trust, why was it so hard to just trust the strength of the relationship he held with his mother? Regardless of their hardships, he of all people should know better than to worry because of that. 

God, he knew he was a moron, but damn.

“Okay,” Asta says after agonizing silence, bringing his gaze up to the darkening sky. The rough, agitated tone in his voice is gone, now replaced by a strong certainty.

Secré blinks. “Okay?”

Asta turns to face her, bringing a smile to his lips. It’s not radiating pure elation and glee as it typically did, but it’s genuine, and it shows resolution. “I listened, just like you asked, and I get your point. So… I’ll go to the party!”

Contemplation dwells behind ruby eyes, and Asta’s smile drops as those eyes narrow a bit, displaying an expression of very, very slight annoyance, and something that moreso matches concern.

“Asta, you know that entire speech wasn’t simply in regards to the party, right? I know that’s the topic that brought up this entire ordeal, but this is more about you, and your mother, and your feelings. I was trying to—”

“I know!” Asta cuts her off promptly, a wide grin on his face. “I told you, I listened. However, it’s about taking small steps, right? That’s why I’ve decided to go. That’ll help me begin to fully understand the depth of your words.”

Secré simply stares at Asta, her eyes a little wide in shock. However, she quickly fixates her eyes on the ground they’re walking on, hiding the tiny smile on her face.

“Good,” Is all she says.

Chapter Text

act ii

“Defiance”

The night in Touta seems darker than in Hage, the suburban area lit by simple street lamps. Each mansion was miles apart, so acres of grassland stretched on and on, completely bare underneath the pitch black sky, illuminated by small stars all over. It’s cooler over here, too. The wind felt chilly against Asta’s skin, a small glimpse of what was to come in the coming autumn days.

Finral’s family bears the name of Vaude, a huge name in the Clover Country. Therefore, the home in which the party is being thrown is huge, exuding opulence and sophistication. It’s rather dated, something you’d see in a painting dating back to the 1700s, but that was the charm to it, even if its size was a bit intimidating.

A small number of teenagers are already in the massive front yard, some sitting idly on the swingset with glasses in their hand, halfway full with what Asta could only assume to be alcohol. Others are just standing atop the low-cut grass, chatting with each other.

Grand as it is, the yard is rather bland, lacking any burst of color. Not even a single flower seems to be sprouting, the only shade contrasting the evergreen being the gray, stone waterfall, and the oak bench facing it, along with the oak swing set.

Vibrant lights pour from the windows of the manor, engulfing the dim, yellow street lights. The scent of heavy alcohol and marijuana drifts along the chilly winds, a newly released rap song blasting through whatever speaker is inside the manor, tearing through the air.

“I’m already regretting this,” Secré mutters, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her black jeans. “It smells like shit, and it’s way too loud.”

Asta laughs, sparing her a quick glance. “We don’t gotta stay all night. Let’s just say hi to the others and have fun for a while.”

“Sure, whatever.”

Upon entering the manor, the stench that was simply faint when they were outside is now pungent, completely clouding the entryway. For such a beautiful scene, you’d imagine its scent to be something elegant, like dainty roses, or perhaps expensive vanilla — but, no, the opulent aura of the manor has been clouded by weed smokers and excessive drinkers.

Entering the living room, they’re nearly toppled over by the crowd there. The flatscreen television is playing the music video to the rap song blasting through the speakers, and the visual on display just might be the most vulgar thing Asta’s ever seen — but at least the song is catchy.

Everyone is either dancing, or cheering on those who are dancing. The room is overflowing with noise, feeling hot and stuffy with so many people standing by each other, heat radiating off their skin. If Asta is being honest, it felt a little uncomfortable, definitely not what he was expecting. The air stank, he was becoming sweaty rather quickly, and his ears were thrumming. Still, he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Plus, he hadn’t even greeted his friends yet.

All it takes is a swift turn of his head, and his eyes find Finral by the doorway of the room that seemed to lead to the kitchen, leaning over a blonde girl and winking, causing her to swoon. There’s a bottle of tequila in his hand, a splotchy, red shade blooming across his cheeks. The blonde bats her eyelashes prettily, idly combing her fair hands through her curly hair. 

“Oh, great,” Secré mumbles.

“Let’s go say hello!” Asta announces, navigating through the array of people. Secré follows behind, and when they get there, the girl is the first to notice, sneering at them. Asta doesn’t really pay her any mind, and Secré simply glares back. “Finral, hey!” He addresses his friend, much to the girl’s dismay.

Finral looks down at Asta, violet eyes widening in pure surprise, blinking a few times as though he’s seeing a mirage, and it’ll all be gone soon. Yet, after awkward, tense seconds go by, Finral seems to realize that Asta isn’t going anywhere — he’s here to stay and enjoy himself, regardless of his previous thoughts.

Secré scoffs. “Pick your jaw up off the floor.”

“Asta, you— you’re here! Aw, man, this is great! I didn’t think you’d show up!”

“I had a little convincing,” Asta grins. “This is totally not what I was expecting, though. It’s so stuffy and smelly in here, I might suffocate,” He tugs at the collar of his bland, red shirt to emphasize his point, attempting to relieve himself of the humidity. “How is everyone moving around so much in this air?”

“The alcohol,” Finral shrugs. “Go on, have fun, enjoy yourselves! It’s your first time at a party, after all.”

Enjoy himself? Viridian eyes gloss over each body in the room, noting the rolled blunts in their hands, the bottles of alcohol they sway carelessly in the air, pouring glasses as they mingle. Everyone’s laughing, enjoying the music, each other’s company, and the high from the alcohol and weed. Is this how you enjoy a high school party?

Well, firstly, Asta doesn’t really know how to dance. The last time he’s ever danced was with his mother back when he was seven, and they were doing some childish dance to the introduction of a cartoon he was obsessed with at the time. 

Secondly, of course, he wouldn’t dare touch one of those blunts, or even have a sip of alcohol — he was already rebelling enough by being here in the first place, no way would he start using substances! Plus, he liked to have full control over his body, so getting drunk or high was definitely not something he was interested in doing. 

Maybe he could find the others?

Asta parts his lips in order to inform Finral of his departure, but the older boy has already diverted his attention back to the blonde girl, pouring some of his tequila in her glass.

☘︎︎

Somehow, Asta finds himself in the illustrious game room underneath the manor. It’s illuminated by the purple and green neon lights fixed in the stone ceiling, those hues shining across the surfaces of every arcade game in sight. A huge flatscreen television is mounted on the wall, in the area of the room that’s sectioned off from the colorful machinery. That section seems to be for video games, as there are multiple consoles sitting on the elongated, oak desk beneath the television, and a black, leather recliner couch to lounge on. There are recliner seats as well, two on each side of the couch, matching its onyx shade.

It’s not just him down there, though. A bunch of party goers had come down, including his friends (who were quite shocked, yet ecstatic, to see him there), every single game being occupied.

Asta waits out a match between Luck and Magna, who are playing some kind of zombie shooter game. It seems simple enough — whoever shoots the most zombies wins. They’re neck and neck, both boys holding an impressive kill count of thirty-eight, and there’s only twenty seconds left on the clock.

“Magna, you should just give up!” Luck says cheerily, landing two more shots. “It’s obvious that you’re gonna lose! You suck!”

“You suck, you goddamn manic,” Magna grits out, getting three more shots in. “Yeah, how you like that, huh, Luck?” The sound of victory drenches his words, a cocksure grin spread across his face.

Fifteen seconds…

“Don’t get so cocky, Magna,” Three more shots landed.

“Oh, I think I will,” Two shots.

Ten seconds…

Each of them gets another five zombies.

Three… Two…

“Hah!” Magna shouts victoriously, the words ‘WINNER: PLAYER 2’ in big, yellow, blocky letters, contrasting against the blue, geometric background. The display reflects boldly in the pale lavender of Magna’s eyes, though it’s gone rather quickly, in its place the sight of Luck staring up at him, smiling without a hint of bitterness despite his loss. Magna leans in just the slightest bit closer, the tips of their noses close to kissing. “Told ya I’d win,” He says, sounding a bit breathless for some reason, though he’s still got that smug grin on his face.

Luck tilts his head just the slightest bit, a manner so innocent and almost sweet, but there’s a teasing spark in his oceanic eyes. “You totally cheated,” It’s softer than his words typically spill, almost a whisper.

“Nah,” The taller replies. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Asta can’t help but stare with slightly wide eyes, utterly confused at the events unfolding right in front of his eyes — in front of everyone’s eyes. Should those two be that close…? It’s not like their bickering is anything new, but this didn’t seem like their typical quarrel. It felt more reserved, almost hushed, as though they were in a small bubble, and those around them were mere static in the background.

Maybe Asta’s eyes are deceiving him, and it’s a trick of the neon lighting brightening up the otherwise dark space, but he swears there’s a tinge of pink across their cheeks, their eyes brimming with something more than just simple determination, simple competition. It looked more like…

“Hey, stop it!” A female voice, full of distress and anger, rips through all of Asta’s thoughts.

Turning his head, he sees a girl in a frilly dress containing various shades of red, her hair a more natural red hue, curled and styled. The girl’s forearm is being gripped by a huge, burly hand, belonging to a large guy that Asta’s seen around a few times. The guy is a senior, and on the wrestling team, he thinks.

Now that he thinks about it, hasn’t he seen that girl somewhere before, too?

“Rebecca, was it?” Wrestling Team Guy says, his lips twisting upwards, displaying a gnarly grin. “Why won’t you come home with me? It’s not like any other guy will like you. You’re pretty plain looking, aside from those pretty lil’ freckles. I’m being nice here, sweet thing. I’ll give you the time of your life, if you catch my drift.”

Rebecca struggles against his iron grip, her struggles going unheard amidst the rowdy crowd too focused on their games and conversations to notice. Even Asta’s own friends don’t seem to take note of the scene, Vanessa and Charmy settling onto the electronic floor of the machine, taking their turn with it.

Asta walks over to Rebecca and the guy, hoping to diffuse the situation. Well — if giving the guy a good beating counts as “diffusing.”

“Hey,” He says, voice low, bordering on baritone. Their eyes glance over toward him, a heavy gratitude sitting in her icy irises. “She said stop. Let her go.”

The wrestler releases his grip off of her slim arm, his onyx eyes ignited with some sort of amusement, as if Asta is another player in his boxing ring, and he’s the one holding a golden belt around his wide waist. If the dark, uneven tone of red on his cheeks was anything to go by, along with the way his eyes are slightly unfocused and hazy, then he’s definitely intoxicated. 

“You’re that little runt on the football team,” Wrestler points a thick finger right at Asta’s face, leaning down. “You may be strong and fast, but you don’t stand a chance against me. I can bench three-hundred.”

“That so?”

Wrestler raises a right hook, eyes widening with exhilaration. “How about I show you?!”

That shout catches attention, people pausing their gameplay in order to watch the dispute, though some still pay them no mind. Asta’s eyebrows furrow, but only slightly, as his left hand clenches into a firm fist. Dudes like this piss him off, sure, but they’re worth not getting furious over. A nice, swift blow to the nose should knock his senses back in place.

Plus, he can only bench three-hundred?

It’s a quick thing, nothing really exciting about it at all. Asta simply delivers his left fist to the wrestler’s nose in a fast, swift manner, sending the larger man tumbling onto the carpeted ground. Blood runs down his nose, dripping into his huge palm. Dark eyes look up at Asta, widened in shock, the distorted glaze in his eyes now gone, along with the red across his ugly face. Must have gotten knocked so hard, he became sober.

Stunned, Rebecca turns to him, holding the fabric of her dress in her slightly shaking hands, blinking rapidly as she stares in his eyes, the viridian overflowing with kindness and resolve.

“Thank you…” She manages to say, voice a mere murmur. “I really appreciated that.”

Asta grins, bringing his hands up to rest behind his head. “It’s no problem! Rebecca, right? I think you’re that girl from the football field last year! Wow, you look so much more alive these days!”

“Y-Yeah, that’s me,” A faint pink hue arises on her cheeks, her gaze falling to the ground. “Do you mind if we take a walk outside? It’s too stuffy in here, and I, um, need some time to cool off.”

“Sure!”

☘︎︎

As they walk alongside Finral’s private lake, Asta learns a lot about Rebecca.

Rebecca has five siblings, and when she talks about them, her movements become animated and exuberant, eyes the shade of teal glistening underneath the stars dotting the pitchy sky. It brings Asta back a few years, where he was a toddler under Sister Lily’s care. The church she was devoted to was a safe space for orphans to dwell, and she took care of those youngins with her entire heart, along with the Father of the church, Father Orsi. Asta and the others played a lot together, even though they were all younger than him. Recca, Nash, Arlu — those three were constants in his childhood days, and he still considers them great friends, even if it’s been years since they’ve last seen each other.

Also, she’s an amazing cook! Hesitantly, she shows Asta some of her meals that she’s taken pictures of, and though he can’t taste it through the screen, every single dish she’s ever made looks incredible. Asta asks if he could ever have a chance to taste one of her meals one day, and with a bright pink face, she slowly nods.

What really surprises Asta, though, is that she lives in Nean, where Sister Theresa stays. Years ago, Sister Lily would go to the elder woman for advice, and she’d always tell Asta about her endeavors with the woman. Turns out Sister Theresa is a real spitfire, refusing to be held back by her old age. If Sister Lily is impressed by her, then Asta sure is, despite the fact that he’s never met the woman before.

“So, um, Asta… I have a question,” Rebecca mumbles, coiling a wavy strand of red hair around her finger.

Asta pulls himself from his thoughts, averting his attention to her. “Yeah, what’s up?”

The girl suddenly stops, a strong determination in her eyes. Asta stops, too, blinking in confusion. The silence is almost deafening, not even miniscule insects emitting a sound. Asta can only watch expectantly as Rebecca fiddles with her fingers, tiny scars and freckles littering her skin. Under the white light of the moon, her deep blush is visible, stark against her cheeks. 

“Is there someone you’ve got your heart set on?” 

“Yes!” Asta shouts instantaneously, thinking of Sister Lily once again. “I love her so, so much! Her name is—”

✤✤✤

“Yes!” Asta shouts instantaneously, those beautiful eyes shining with what could only be called adoration. “I love her so, so much! Her name is—”

“I’ll be rooting for you.”

Rebecca has to cut him off, because to hear the name of the woman who holds Asta’s heart would be too much to bear. If she were any better of a woman herself, she’d let her heart beat for another — but this is Asta, and she knows it won’t be easy to feel those butterflies for anyone else, so even though she’s rooting for him, she’ll still fight for his love.

Not knowing who exactly Asta is in love with makes it all the more easier. Rebecca won’t subconsciously try to show anyone up, and jealousy won’t flash before her whenever she sees the girl who has Asta’s heart in the palm of her hand, because she simply won’t know. This way, the battle could hardly be called one. 

Asta’s always been such an amazing boy, ever since the first time they met. Rebecca remembers when she first met him — it was last year, where he was a freshman, and she, a sophomore.

Though the skies were blue most days, each time Rebecca glanced up in hopes of viewing the beautiful display, her eyes showed her nothing but a canvas of gray. Clear skies came through as rough storms through her vision, as her days were clouded by the dreadful hours at work, along with the burdensome responsibility on her shoulders to practically raise her siblings, whilst her mother spent her days living out what little youth she had left. All that, and she still had to worry about schoolwork, too. 

Needless to say, it was difficult for Rebecca to find the good in the passing days, each hour naught but a cruel reminder of the stress that awaited her. The color in her once youthful, shimmering eyes had become a dull, pale shade. It became difficult to stay awake, and her dreams for the future were a thread away from being forgotten.

But then, he came.

Rebecca wishes it didn’t sound like a cliche “knight in shining armor” story, but that’s precisely what it was, and she’s come to accept that, because it’s the moment that the vibrant hue in her eyes returned, that spark of hope that had been dimmed down ignited once more.

It was another dim day, the sky colorless to Rebecca, her mind blank as she crossed the football field. It was late, so none of the team were out there practicing. This way, she could get to her siblings’ schools quicker. 

“Hey, watch out!”

Rebecca blinked, clutching the thick, dusty textbooks in her hand to her chest, her head turning in the direction of the voice — and coming her way was a football, traveling at an impeccable speed. No way was she going to get out of the way in time. Anticipating a nasty impact, her eyes squeezed shut, head lowering as her lips quivered.

“Gotcha!”

The ball made heavy contact with something, if the loud sound reverberating through her ears was anything to go by… but… she didn’t feel anything. In those mere seconds of fear, all she had felt was a strong gust of wind woosh past her freckled face. Slowly, she opened her eyes, only to see spiky hair the color of ash blowing in the wind, a muscular hand riddled with scars, some large and gnarly, others small and already fading, holding the football.

The boy looks over his shoulder at the girl behind him, offering a toothy grin. Is that a fang on the right side of his mouth? His eyes are so green, nearly flaming with determination, with passion, something that her own eyes had lost.

Even though he was short, a little rough looking, he seemed… sweet.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” She nodded slowly, drinking in the stranger’s appearance. 

How could someone look so full of life?

Wait, wasn’t this the quarterback of the team? Now that she thought about it, she has seen this kid a few times before, typically with his rather rowdy group of friends roaming the halls. Not to mention the football team’s home games, where he carried his team to victory. What was his name again…?

“You seemed a little out of it,” Said the quarterback, honest as one could be. Upon gazing into Rebecca’s eyes, the shorty seemed to realize something, his head tilting in a way that shouldn’t have been so cute. “Your eyes seem so foggy, clouded by something. Are you okay?”

Are you okay?

When was the last time someone had asked her that?

“I’m fine,” She lied straight through her teeth, shifting on her feet and turning so that her back faced the boy, in a feeble effort to mask the way her lips became wobbly and her dull eyes burned as she attempted to hold back tears. Tilting her head up the slightest bit, facing the gray sky that must’ve been a beautiful blue in the boy’s eyes, she began to walk away. “Thanks again.”

“You shouldn’t give up so easily, y’know.”

What?

Giving up? Was that what she’s been doing this entire time…? Just letting herself accept life as a muddy, gray scene, believing that all the color in the world had been gone?

No, it wasn’t giving up… she had nothing in life to give up anyway. All she knew her entire life was grueling, back-breaking work, so it was only natural that her vision was devoid of color, that she lacked any friends and relied solely on her siblings to keep her going through the day. She wasn’t giving up anything.

That’s right — what did this little shrimp know, anyway? It’s not as if he could understand her, he’s always surrounded by people, always enjoying his life without worry. What right did he have to tell her anything?

Rebecca gripped the straps of her backpack, teeth grinding against one another as her feet stomped across the grassy field.

What the fuck did he know?

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

“There’s so much potential in the world.”

Yet he still spoke.

And yet, Rebecca’s feet still came to a halt.

“I can tell that something’s bugging you, and it has been for a long time, if the look in your eyes is anything to go by,” Quarterback spoke, his tone blunt, though not in the slightest bit rude. “But you shouldn’t give up because of it — whatever it is. I’m not trying to sound smart or anything — my head would probably explode if I tried — but there’s so much potential in the world, and if you only look at it with those dull eyes, it’ll be hard to push past your issues and find your purpose in life.”

Find her… purpose in life?

Was it not working until she caved, sleeping all of her free hours away? Was it not living life in a death cycle, counting the minutes that passed as her bones ached and her eyes grew heavy, counting the days that passed until she was finally free?

“I know my purpose in life,” Rebecca spat viciously. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“If you know your purpose, why isn’t there a shred of light in your eyes?”

A small gasp escaped her lips, her body turning on the heels of her feet, facing the boy once more. “A… shred of light?”

“A spark of hope, of determination, of anything that indicates you’re fighting for something. When you’re moping across the field with eyes like those, it’s apparent to anyone that you’ve given up, even idiots like me.”

If that’s true, then… people have acknowledged the fact that she’s given up, yet no one cared to pick her back up.

No one but this boy, a short, idiotic football player, with big, expressive eyes too green for his own good, and the resolve of a bull. 

So maybe… maybe there’s still a chance for her to… to…

“I know it’s not my business,” He continued. “But I don’t like to see anyone give up, even people I don’t know. I know you can push through whatever it is, no sweat. I believe in you!”

He believed in her.

It was then that Rebecca finally understood the beauty of the surrounding world, watching as the color bled into her vision, allowing her to see the world for what it truly was. Somewhere in this world, her purpose was waiting, and it was her duty to find it. If she sat and moped about her life for the rest of her years, never would she find her calling. Nothing would brighten up, and her days would remain dark and cloudy.

And when she looked at Asta for a final time, a new, foreign spark ignited in the blue of her eyes, her skin becoming warm as she felt what could only be described as awe. Such a gorgeous grin he wore, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his left dimple appeared on his chubby cheek, that pointy fang a charming part of his goofy smile. 

“Thank you… for believing in me.”

“No problem. I’m Asta, by the way.”

“I’m Rebe—”

“Hey, Asta! Stop flirting with random girls and throw the ball! Coach Yami’s gonna kill us if we don’t increase our throw by a few yards before Friday!”

Asta turned to his teammate, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish, adorable chuckle. “Alright, I’m coming! And I’m not flirting!” He ran toward his teammate, but stopped halfway, turning to face Rebecca once again, his look unreadable.

Rebecca blinked, anticipating. 

“I hope I’ll see you around soon!”

A dark, warm blush rose upon her cheeks.

“Y-Yeah, same here…!”

Now, back in the present, Rebecca can see how far she’s come thanks to that fateful day. Looking at Asta, watching the beautiful glow in his eyes underneath the moon, his reflection shimmering along the surface of the lake, it makes her want.

Asta is just so, so amazing, and Rebecca wishes she could, even if only for a minute, know what it feels like to call Asta hers. 

Even if there is someone he’s longing for, Rebecca knows her desire to have him is not one that could easily be quelled with a little swaying. Asta’s the one who told her to fight for what she wanted in order to see the world for what it truly is, so she’ll do just that.

✤✤✤

It’s a nice night, the breeze is great, and Rebecca is a pretty interesting person, so Asta wouldn’t say he’s getting bored, but, well… he’s getting a little bored.

Just admitting it makes him feel terrible, but he can’t be dishonest with himself. As their idle stroll grows quiet, Asta envisions Sister Lily in Rebecca’s place, her gentle, airy voice filling the night as she looked up at the moon, its glow enveloping her. Oh, how Asta wishes he could get to see such a sight, even if only once. How her eyelashes would flutter, her lips, soft and pink, would curve into that ethereal smile she held.

God, it feels like his face is on fire.

Sister Lily, the woman that you are.

“Would you like to head back inside?” Rebecca’s voice slices through Asta’s fantasies, drawing him back into the real world. “I’m getting a bit chilly.”

“Oh, sure,” Asta says, changing direction so that they were headed in the direction of obnoxious neon lights. 

The walk back is nice, Asta presumes. Their conversation grows silent, a little awkward, though nothing that bothers Asta too much. Rebecca doesn’t seem all that phased, either, so he guesses it’s alright. 

When they get to the front yard, Asta notices Rebecca begin to fidget. The look in her eyes becomes pointed on the grassy ground, so, naturally, Asta is about to ask what’s wrong.

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” Rebecca finally asks, her eyes finally meeting Asta’s again.

“Like, alcohol?” Asta replies.

Rebecca nods. “Y-Yeah. I think it’d be good to let loose for once. Of course, I know we’re underaged and all! But… this is a high school party, after all. Still, if you’re uncomfortable with it, I understand. No pressure.”

Asta thinks back to earlier, where he was in the living room with Finral and Secré. The air had been heavy with robust alcohol. At the time, he told himself he wasn’t particularly keen on drinking at the party. The prospect of even touching a glass had made him a bit uneasy, his mind still wrapping around the fact that he’s even at this party. In the back of his mind, a mantra is playing, telling him to trust his relationship with Licita and that being here is okay.

Even so, simply being present to a high school party is different from actually indulging in the risky activities that take place. If he even has a sip, he’s sure that that’ll be crossing a line. Regardless of Secré’s words on Monday, he knows that doing such a thing would lose her trust for sure.

“I’m not saying that if you do go to the party and she finds out, she won’t be upset. It would be a reasonable reaction for her to be a little mad. What I’m getting at is that Ms. Licita getting angry isn’t going to break that relationship you two have, no matter how much you think it will. I know your relationship feels nonexistent, but you have to trust me when I say it’s there, and it’s stronger than a flimsy thread. Not only do you need to trust me, but trust her, too. Trust that she cares about you, trust that she loves you. Trust that she’ll be okay, even if it doesn’t seem that way. That’s what’s got you so worried, isn’t it? That you’ll betray her trust? Well, it’s a two-way street, Asta. If you want her to trust you, you’ve got to trust her, too.”

Right, that’s right… he can’t think about it like that. Rebecca is so kind, and he can tell she wants to unwind after everything that’s transpired. For her to ask him to join is incredibly nice of her, and Asta doesn’t want to turn her down.

One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

“Sure thing!”

☘︎︎

Sitting on the spiral staircase that stretched from the sliding doors in the back of the manor that led to the backyard, and went up to the second floor, Asta warily eyes the cool, tropical slushie in his hand. A pineapple wedge fits snugly on the edge of the glass, and the condensation along the cup dampens his fingertips. 

It looks and smells heavenly, Asta almost can’t believe it’s alcohol. The alcohol he’s used to is pure liquid, with an unbearable, burning scent. This looks like something he’d have on a nice, summer day, sitting out on the beach.

Rebecca had told him it was called a “Pina Colada,” and it’s easier going down than the alcohol most other people were having. Currently, she’s sipping on hers slowly, cautiously eying Asta, like there’s words she wants to say, but keeps arguing with herself internally on whether or not to say it.

Asta stares at the plastic straw, slowly raising the drink to his lips. At this distance, there’s an extremely subtle smell of alcohol, but it’s not like anything he’s ever smelt before. At least, he doesn’t think so.

“You don’t have to drink it. Sorry for offering,” Rebecca mumbles, lowering her head. Red curls fall over her eyes, her glass held firmly between her palms, hovering above her lap.

“No, no, I’m going to! Sorry, it’s just— it’s my first time drinking, so I’m kind of nervous, y’know?” Asta chuckles sheepishly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, purely out of minor embarrassment. Rebecca is older than him, so of course she has more experience with this sort of stuff. Though… sixteen is still way too young for her to be drinking.

Okay, just do it, Asta psyches himself up, forcing his lips around the straw. The icy concoction has a very faint burn as it travels down his throat, but that is easily ignored due to the refreshing taste, something akin to a warm paradise. Though he’s never been there, Asta can’t help but think this drink is a specialty from Heart Country. It’s a beautiful, tropical place. Just sipping on it, he feels like he’s on a two-week vacation there.

The more he drinks it, the better it tastes, and he can’t help but stare in awe at the drink once half of it is gone.

“This is delicious!” He beams up at Rebecca, eyes sparkling. 

Rebecca’s entire face goes red, her head turning away from Asta’s glimmering gaze. “Y-Yeah, pina coladas are pretty good. I’m glad the alcohol isn’t bothering you.”

“Nah, I can barely taste it!” Asta says proudly, taking a drawn out sip to prove his point. There’s barely an inch of it left. “Is there any more?”

“Yeah, I think so. Wow, it tastes that good?”

“Uh-huh! I’m gonna go get another. Be right back!” Asta stands, pulling the pineapple wedge off with his teeth. As he chews, Rebecca’s hand comes around his wrist. Confused, he looks down at the girl on the steps, an eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong?”

The girl’s eyes are filled with concern. “I don’t think you should have more. You’re too young, and it’s your first time. Your cheeks are completely flushed, and your eyes are becoming glossy. Also, you wobbled a little while getting up.”

Asta brings a hand to his cheeks, coming to the realization that, yeah, they are quite balmy. Weird — typically, he notices that. His vision seems fine, and he doesn’t recall being even slightly off balance when he had stood.

It’s way too warm, and Asta really wants another drink. It was so refreshing, and he’s starting to feel like he’s floating in the air right about now just thinking about it. Glancing down at Rebecca, he simply smiles reassuringly, waving his hand in a dismissive motion.

“I’m fine, I’m just a little warm. Another couldn’t hurt.”

“If you say so… uh, they’re in the dining room, by the way.”

“Okay, thanks!”

So, Asta goes to get another drink, his senses suddenly numb to the harsh smell and muggy air surrounding him. Maybe he should be a little concerned as to why that is, but it seems like it’s physically impossible for him to feel any ounce of worry. All he feels is completely elated, like a switch had just been flipped in his brain or something, dropping every single negative emotion in a hypothetical chute, sending it to the deepest depths of his mind, while positivity clouds his thoughts.

After he retrieves the drink he had been craving, he takes long sips as he walks back to the stairwell by the backyard. It’s so replenishing and sweet, he thinks that maybe Vanessa’s love for alcohol isn’t completely irrational.

Taking a seat next to Rebecca once more, Asta turns to the girl with a dopey grin on his face, the warmth on his skin definitely more noticeable now, but still not bothering him. The girl raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking back and forth between Asta’s frosted glass and his face.

“Hey, how come you aren’t drinking as much? You’re not even halfway done yet,” Asta asks, still smiling.

Rebecca stares at Asta for a moment, deep contemplation welling in her eyes. Eventually, she sighs. “I know that I’m the one who suggested that we do this, but I’m a little nervous now.”

“Suggested that we do what…?”

“Drink,” Rebecca clarifies. “I was trying to get myself to, y’know, let loose, like you inspired me to. I’ve only done something like this once before. It was before I met you. I never had free time, like, ever. I’m not exaggerating, it was so bad that the school called my mom up once. It never went past that, though. Anyway, one fateful day, I had the entire day to myself. My mom didn’t want people suspecting abuse or anything, so she let me be free for a day. No children to care for, no work, and it was a weekend, so no school. I had more time than I knew what to do with.”

Asta merely blinks in response, hazy eyes slowly losing focus. Rebecca huffs, her leg bouncing almost erratically as her gaze rises to the ceiling.

“I, uh, didn’t know how to spend my time, so I walked around the neighborhood. Long story short, I came across a party, got invited in by the people outside, and understood for the first time what living life as a teenager was really about. I did all the stupid shit I knew I wasn’t supposed to do — drank, smoked, made out with random guys… I was a mess that night. Fast forward, I came back home at around four in the morning, and all my siblings greeted me. The little ones pounced all over me,” Her chin tilts upwards, bottom lip held between her teeth as if to stifle an unwanted noise. “I was so drunk, I didn’t properly register who they were or what was happening. I shoved them to the ground, hard. Then flipped out, yelling out of fear, anger, and confusion. I was so out of it. The second youngest, only two at the time, hit his head on the floor.”

“Oh, wow.”

Rebecca winces. “Yeah. It didn’t severely hurt him or anything, but they were scared. Scared of me, the girl who’s been raising them their entire lives. It didn’t dawn on me what had happened until the next morning. They refused to come by me, and I couldn’t seem to get them to understand I was sorry, and that I wasn’t in the right state of mind. I’m gonna spare you the details, but after about a month, they began to trust me again. Even so, I still feel like shit about it to this day.”

Though her words sounded as though they were fading into the background the entire time she spoke, Asta managed to understand, even in his current state. While he’s never been smart, he’s always been pretty perceptive. Through Rebecca’s blatant attempt at stifling her sobs, her tight grip on the alcoholic drink, and the slight tremble in her shoulders, it’s clear that she’s torn up inside right now.

Asta’s tongue feels tied, like if he says something, it’ll come out all muddled and wrong. It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling, since he likes to be able to speak freely (and at the top of his lungs). Regardless of that, he still tries.

“‘S in the pass,” He slurs, as expected. Rebecca blinks at him, wiping a stray tear with her finger. “No point ‘n worryin’ about it now… siblings forgave you alshready, so stop crying, ‘kay?”

Rebecca sniffles, but manages to curve her lips into a small smile. Though wobbly and nearly faltering, it’s genuine nonetheless. She huffs out a little laugh, staring down at the drink in her hands. 

“Might as well,” She says, moreso to herself than Asta, before taking a tentative sip of her pina colada.

☘︎︎

Asta doesn’t know how, but all of a sudden, the night becomes ten times more enjoyable. He and Rebecca hit it off well in their drunken states, deciding to try even more drinks together, and have some food, too. Miraculously, Asta didn’t end up puking once!

Eventually, people begin to head out, the music subtly dying down and everyone having their last smoke or drink. As Asta and Rebecca head to the living room to sit and talk some more, he hears his name called out by a familiar voice. 

Turning his head, he sees Secré approaching him, a different expression lingering behind the stoic one she wore. Asta smiles, waving rapidly at the girl.

“What are you doing?” Secré asks, voice flat. “It’s time to go.”

Asta shakes his head, snaking an arm around Rebecca’s waist and pulling her close. “Nuh-uh! Wanna stay with—” Hiccup. “—Rebescha!”

Rebecca giggles, nodding. “Yeah! Asta’s with me!”

“You’ve got to be kidding…”

“You jealous?” Rebecca asks smugly, her hazy, blue eyes glaring down at Secré.

“With a joke like that, you’d make a great comedian,” Secré deadpans, grabbing Asta’s wrist with one hand, and Rebecca’s with her other. “You both are coming with me. It’s time to go.”

Asta laughs heartily. “Yay! I’m goin’ with Secré!”

Secré rolls her eyes, leading the two drunks outside the manor and through the front yard, to the street. There’s a beautiful, black limousine parked outside. A man is standing outside of it, a bit old — maybe late fifties. Even so, his appearance is clean and almost intimidating, with a height that bested Coach Yami’s, and slicked back, silver hair that shone under the moon, accentuating his sharp, gorgeous features. A roman nose sat between two thin, piercing eyes that shone the color of molten. His suit is pressed and fitted, a jet black shade, accentuated with a red tie. 

The man opens the door of the limousine, nodding gently at Secré as a subtle greeting. She returns the gesture, then pushes Asta and Rebecca into the limousine before getting in herself. The man shuts the door.

Asta sits between the two girls, wrapping an arm around Secré’s forearm and laying his head on her shoulder. “Hi, Secré!”

“Hello, Asta.”

“You’re really pretty,” Asta smiles, all dopey and completely drunk.

Secré sighs. “Thank you.”

“How about me?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“I do.”

Asta beams, grinning up at her, his eyes sparkling as though they were illuminated under the sun. “Really? You do? You really, really, really do?! You—”

“Yes, I do, now shut up.”

The boy smiles softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he nestles into her shoulder, holding onto her tighter. “Mm, Secré thinksh ‘m purtty, hehe. I think you’re pretty, too,” He tells her earnestly, his vision going black soon after that.

Unbeknownst to him nor Secré, Rebecca begins to sober up at the sight.

☘︎︎

Asta wakes up on a brown, tattered couch.

Everything aches, the world seeming to be spinning on its axis. Asta is lying straight on his back (which he hates), bleary eyes staring up at a bumpy ceiling. The vision is blurry, almost as if clouded by thick fog. Trying to clear up the muggy image, Asta’s eyes shut softly, but colorful, bright spots appear behind his eyelids.

Opening his eyes once again, he lets out an irritated groan, bringing a hand to his forehead and massaging his temples with his ring finger and thumb. The headache doesn’t let up, instead becoming increasingly painful as each second ebbs on.

Disoriented and in immense pain, Asta sits up, only then noticing the blue comforter on him as it falls to his lap. Taking in his surroundings, slightly distorting as it looks, Asta comes to realize that he’s in his house, on his couch. The window behind the couch has the curtains pulled together, yet a bright ray of sunlight shines through the slight sliver of uncovered glass, burning into Asta’s retinas. Wincing, he quickly pulls the cover off of him and swings his feet off the couch so that he’s now sitting forward. The headache increases tenfold, and he has to bite his lip to prevent a painful groan from escaping his lips.

Glancing down at the tiny coffee table rested in front of the couch, he notices a glass of water and a bottle of tylenol tablets resting atop the glass. Just what he needs.

Someone must have put those there, so someone knows of Asta’s current state. Thank God, that means someone can explain what the hell happened to him. But who?

Asta tries to recall yesterday’s events, attempting to pull any memory that could explain why he feels this way. Everything comes back as a blur, as though his memory had been wiped clean.

Too much thinking, he says internally. Gotta take this tylenol so I can feel better. Asta opens the bottle and takes a pill, popping it in his mouth before chasing it down with the water. Without realizing it, he ends up downing almost the entire glass, barely an inch left. Asta sighs as he places the glass back down on his bull shaped coaster (Dominante had made it for him when he was a kid. Licita has a cat one).

Soft footsteps emit from upstairs. Asta wonders if it’s one of his friends — most likely Secré. That’s good, she can tell him what he did last night. Never had he felt this out of commission, even when he’s gotten severely ill.

Asta looks at the stairwell, a greeting on the tip of his tongue — but his words get caught in his throat upon seeing the familiar face that comes down.

“Mom…?” He utters, moreso to himself, eyes slightly wide.

Never is Licita home and awake, of course, unless she’s getting ready for work — but typically during that time, Asta isn’t home. Yet here she is, work uniform adorning her body, with dark circles beneath her eyes and a solemn, disappointed expression heavy on her face.

Licita looks over at Asta, eyes widening. In a worried manner, she rushes over to him, a palm resting on each of his slightly flushed cheeks. Asta goes stiff at the contact, the feel of her hands still as soft as he remembers them to be, even with the small calluses that ran across her skin.

“Asta! Are you okay? You weren’t taken advantage of, right? Secré brought you here at two o’clock, I was so shocked, I thought you were asleep in your bedroom! She said you guys were at a party at Finral’s house — Finral’s your friend, right? I’m sorry, I don’t remember most of the names. Secré was with you, so that was a little reassuring, but still—”

“Mom, mom, it’s alright. I’m okay,” Asta tells her, a warm smile on his face. “I just have a headache, that’s all. I took the tylenol, so I should be fine.”

Wait, a party at Finral’s house? Oh, that’s right! No wonder he feels so shitty. At the party, he and Rebecca had gotten drunk together. The details are still fuzzy, but with that out of the way, he feels relieved. Relieved, yet… anxious. Anxious to hear what she has to say next, because what he did was still wrong, and it put more stress on her. Guilt begins to etch its way into Asta’s mind, his gentle smile faltering.

“Okay, that’s good. Now… I have to tell you, I’m very upset at you,” Licita says, her hands sliding off of Asta’s skin. The woman sits besides Asta, her eyes strictly focused on his own. “I let you have a lot of freedom, I know, but even you should know that this is something I wouldn’t be okay with. You haven’t even turned fifteen yet, but you’re consuming alcohol and coming home drunk after midnight! I’ve always trusted you with the freedom I give you, but now that you’ve done this, I don’t know how many times this has happened before!”

“This is the only time I’ve done it, I swear!” Asta proclaims, pleading. “I’m sorry, mom, I know it was wrong, but I— I wasn’t planning on drinking, I just wanted to go to the—”

Licita gasps, eyebrows furrowing. “You weren’t planning on drinking? Were you peer pressured?” 

Asta shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to, uh, let loose? I guess. I was with a friend. Her name’s Rebecca, and she’s really kind. We drank together.”

“Rebecca? Ah, whatever the case, that doesn’t make it okay. Do you know how fast my heart dropped when I was leaving for work and saw you in Secré’s arms, disoriented and completely out of it? I couldn’t believe you’d just—” The words she’s looking for don’t come, a long, dragged out sigh in its place as she drops her head into her palms, stressed and upset. 

“I’m not saying that if you do go to the party and she finds out, she won’t be upset. It would be a reasonable reaction for her to be a little mad. What I’m getting at is that Ms. Licita getting angry isn’t going to break that relationship you two have, no matter how much you think it will. I know your relationship feels nonexistent, but you have to trust me when I say it’s there, and it’s stronger than a flimsy thread. Not only do you need to trust me, but trust her, too. Trust that she cares about you, trust that she loves you. Trust that she’ll be okay, even if it doesn’t seem that way. That’s what’s got you so worried, isn’t it? That you’ll betray her trust? Well, it’s a two-way street, Asta. If you want her to trust you, you’ve got to trust her, too.”

Trust that she’ll be okay, even if it doesn’t seem that way. That’s what’s got you so worried, isn’t it? That you’ll betray her trust?

Watching as she runs a hand through her tamed hair, conflict in her eyes, Asta can’t find the value in those words. Not only is she questioning her trust in him, but it’s eating away at her for her to be doing that. Worrying about her son’s whereabouts was not something she typically did, so she was able to focus strictly on work without any distractions. Now with this in the way, she has another burden on her plate.

Licita had mentioned that when Secré brought Asta back, she was on her way to work. If she’s here now, does that mean she missed out on a few hours of work? Those hours are crucial to her, even missing one hour could — no, would — make her short on a bill or two, then she’d have to stress even further about that.

“I’m sorry,” Asta tells her, voice thick with shame. Might as well let it all out. “I just didn’t think you’d be home, because you never are, and my friends really wanted me to go to this party. I’ve been turning them down so many times because everytime they asked, I was always thinking of how you felt, but Secré told me something. She told me that our relationship is much stronger than a thread. She said that it would be reasonable for you to be upset about it, but it wouldn’t diminish our relationship, even if it feels that way. So I went, and I just hoped you didn’t find out. I knew you wouldn’t want me to, but my friends said that I couldn’t keep bailing on them because I was worried about what you thought. One of my friends even asked… he asked me how could someone who’s never there be worried about me?”

Licita’s eyes go wide at those words, the image of her heart shattering displayed in the green of her eyes — eyes that expressed emotion so easily, that were so easy to read.

The silence is suffocating, almost nauseating. No, actually — Asta feels his stomach begin to gurgle, followed by a sharp pain. The hue of his skin fades to something pale, as his throat becomes scratchy and acidic. Asta jumps up from the couch, dashing up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Hunching over the toilet, he vomits all of last night’s filling. The alcohol, the cheesy food, the desserts Charmy had made — it all rips through his throat, spilling into the toilet bowl.

When he’s finished, he slowly, wobbly, rises back onto his feet. Asta walks to the sink, rinsing his mouth. The taste of bile lingers unpleasantly, and he feels incredibly lightheaded. In the back of his mind, he wonders just how Vanessa managed to hold all her alcohol and still be fine.

When he glances over at the doorway, Licita is watching him with worried eyes. “Are you alright?” She asks. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay, mom,” Asta tells her. 

“Okay. Asta, you said that… you said that you felt like our relationship was diminishing. You said that a friend asked you how it was possible that I could be worried about you when I’m never here for you,” There’s a shaky tremble in her voice, her hands closing into tight fists. “As your mother, those are things that should never be questioned. You shouldn’t have to wonder if I really care about you and worry for you. So, I’m sorry.”

Wait, what?

What does she have to be sorry for? Isn’t this all his fault? It’s not fair — she shouldn’t feel the need to take the blame for Asta’s lack of trust. God, this is getting worse and worse by the minute. It feels like everything he does only piles onto her emotional burden, and the guilt that starts to swallow his heart whole is too painful to ignore.

“Mom, it’s not— you don’t have to—” Asta panics to find words, his body simply moving on its own until they’re face to face. In an act of comfort, he takes her hand in his, intertwining their pinkies as he had done a few days ago. “You didn’t do anything, it’s my fault for breaking your trust like that. I’m sorry. You’re an awesome mother, and I don’t question that at all! I swear it!”

Licita smiles, but it’s not bright or sweet. It’s sad, almost heavy, as melancholy dwells in her eyes. “I know you think I’m awesome, but what you told me earlier, that’s a heavy topic and you wouldn’t have said those things if you didn’t feel some kind of doubt. I don’t know the next time that I’ll have free time, but I swear, when that day comes, me and you will have a proper sit down and talk about this, okay?” She glances up for a moment, beginning to mutter her next words. “I hate that I have to leave right now, but I’ve missed too many hours and… I’ll be short on one of the bills. It’s okay, I’ll figure something out,” She redirects her attention to Asta afterwards. “I’m not going to forget about this. So don’t you forget it either, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The only day of the year that Licita takes off is Asta’s birthday, which is less than a month from now. Are they really going to spend his birthday talking about this? These complicated emotions are coming back, and it irritates him. This isn’t what they do. They don’t have complex discussions about Asta’s feelings, and her lack of presence, and whatever the hell else. After so many years of distance between them, even despite the fact that they lived under the same roof, Asta doesn’t want the one time they can enjoy each other’s company to be because of something so upsetting, so stupid.

Licita presses a chaste kiss to Asta’s forehead. “I love you.”

Asta smiles, choosing to forget about that last thought for now. 

“I love you, too.”

✤✤✤

Rebecca finds herself mulling over that entire scene in the limousine, even as she scrubs the dishes of the restaurant she works in, her fingers pruny and aching. The muscles in her back are crying for help, her wrists feel as though they’re going to snap, and her skin has a thin sheen of sweat across it due to the restaurant’s lack of air conditioning. All that, yet she still can only focus on what she had seen.

Could that be the girl Asta had his heart set on? Secré Swallowtail, his best friend? 

Despite seeing them together often, Rebecca had never considered the possibility of them having feelings for each other. Their relationship just… didn’t seem like that. The way they complimented each other was really sweet, and she could tell that the typically moody girl seemed to brighten up, even if only slightly, in Asta’s presence — but did it stem from something deeper than fond friendship?

No, it couldn’t be… but if it is, then… does she really even stand a chance? Secré is so cute, and not plain looking like Rebecca is. Even with her vampire-ish appearance, she’s still gorgeous. Smart, too. Secré is popular, and kind in her own odd, quirky way. Everything about her was just so interesting, and yet all Rebecca had going for herself was working a shitty-paying job as a waitress in a run down restaurant, and caring for her siblings. All she did was work, work, work. 

When they had been talking by the lake, Rebecca knew that Asta had enjoyed her company for a while, but it was clear that he was getting bored with her. Never had he gotten bored with Secré — at least, not from what she’s seen. Despite the girl’s minimal responses and rather aggressive pinching, he always loved talking to her, and would ramble and ramble. In her presence, he seemed comfortable… happy…

Rebecca could never bring him that feeling.

Chapter Text

act iii

“Control”

Control.

The Silva family owned that word, both literally and metaphorically.

See, the company “Kontorōru” is a Silva-owned electric car company, and the biggest company in Clover. The CEO position is passed down from generations to generations, and in the present day, the CEO is Acier Silva.

Acier mysteriously disappeared after Noelle’s birth, leaving a cryptic letter to the Silva family as to her whereabouts. The gist of the letter was that she was in Spade for important business with their king and queen, and could not provide a specific date as to when she’d be back in Clover. At the end of the letter, she had declared that if anything were to happen while she was away, she’d be entrusting the business to Noelle.

As of now, that’s all Noelle knows about the woman. Only in hung portraits has she seen her mother, but the woman was so beautiful, and many of the servants in the Silva manor told Noelle that she looked just like Acier.

Yet, she still faced cruelty. It’s clear that Acier’s sudden disappearance after her birth is the reason, if the verbal abuse her older siblings spit at her is any indication.

“Mother wants you to take over the business?” Nebra had cackled. “Preposterous! After all, you’re the reason she’s missing, you utter failure.”

“What a puny little wretch!” Solid would shout with malice, holding one of her toys in his hands, too high for her reach. “You’re so worthless! The reason mother is gone is because she gave birth to an insignificant little girl like yourself! I bet you’ll grow up to be a complete moron! You’ll run the business into the ground, and I’ll be there to laugh at you once the business is handed off to one of us instead! Pathetic worm!”

“Noelle, do the world a favor and just disappear like mother had,” Nozel told her coldly. “Maybe then fate would see the Silva who actually deserves to go, and we’ll have mother back. I mean, you are a worthless rodent. No — not even that is a good enough comparison, giving you the luxury of being compared to a living thing. You’re just mere garbage, a speck of dust resting at the bottom of a trash can. Give up. Kontorōru isn’t your business to own. You wouldn’t do it nearly as well as mother has, you absolutely disgusting excuse of a Silva.”

Those cruel, sickening words had etched themselves into Noelle’s brain, running rampant every day that she woke up. Each day, she is reminded of what a repulsive girl she is. A new insult is thrown at her, a new reason for her to want to give up, to listen to their vicious taunting and simply disappear from their lives. That way, it’d be easier for everyone. That way, she wouldn’t be a burden.

Even so, Acier left this responsibility to her, and no one else. Regardless of how many times their bullying may ebb its way into her mental state, she has to stand strong for her mother — this is her battle.

Then again, to run the business Kontorōru, you needed to have control itself. Running the greatest business in Clover Country was no minor feat, and though she’s only fourteen, the time for her to take the CEO position will soon come, even if her mother returns. If she can’t manage the concept of control now, then could she ever?

It’s the one thing that she’s never been able to master, because it’s made of two major components — patience and persistence.

Noelle has persistence, and a hell of a lot of it, too. Noelle fought for what she wanted, no matter how many times she had to pick herself up and retry. It was a quality she’s sure was passed down from Acier, and that thought makes her warm inside.

Patience, however, she has none. That must be a gene from their father’s side, as it’s present in not only her, but her siblings. They have no patience with her, snapping at the smallest mistakes she makes. It’s a shame to know they all share that one trait in common.

Persistence is nothing without patience. No matter how persistent one was, if they lacked patience, their persistence only proved to be an obstacle rather than an ally. Constantly doing something just to get frustrated at each attempt, losing focus and balance, disrupting the equilibrium, it didn’t typically go well. Whether it be sports, academics, or social… whatever the case, if you had the persistence, you needed the patience, too.

Noelle was raised in a household where patience simply didn’t mesh into the routine. Things were handed to her instantaneously, whether she asked for them or not, and she simply accepted what she was given. Interactions like that didn’t require patience, hence the lack of it in her.

Control was something every Silva could do, as if they had created the word, the very concept. Like a superpower.

Noelle didn’t understand why she couldn’t just fall into line and use the power every Silva owned and mastered. They were all raised the same, handed things as their beck and call, accepting and moving forward. No patience was needed, so how did the others learn to have it anyway?

“Miss Noelle?” A timid, familiar voice calls through her bedroom door. One of the maids of the Silva manor. Vivian, Noelle believes her name is. “Are you awake?”

“Of course I am, you don’t have to linger outside the door like a creep. Come in,” Noelle scoffs, earning a squeak from Vivian. Noelle rolls her eyes, throwing the purple comforter off of her, then swinging her bare legs over the side of the bed.

Vivian enters Noelle’s grande bedroom, her index finger pushing up the round, thick glasses that sat on her nose, taking up half of her face. The woman shifts uncomfortably, brown eyes aimlessly wandering around the room. Noelle glares, annoyed at Vivian’s obvious display of nervousness. Something is clearly on the tip of her tongue, why won’t she just spit it out?!

“What is it, Vivian?” Noelle asks, tone sharp and bordering on impatient. “If you’re just going to stand there and shuffle in that same spot, you can see yourself out.”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Miss Noelle! How impolite of me! I’m simply here to inform you that your personal driver has fallen ill. Sir Nozel will be driving you to school for the week. That’s all.”

A strong, almost painful urge to punch a hole in the wall arises in Noelle’s core. It’s hell enough living with Nozel and attending the school he works at. Now she has to sit in a car with him for over an hour? For the entire week at that. This has to be a bad omen.

“Thank you for informing me,” Noelle states calmly, tone even, despite the grinding of her teeth.

Vivian bows, providing a meek “you’re welcome,” before quickly leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

☘︎︎

Noelle comes downstairs after getting fully ready, the smell of fresh breakfast traveling through the air. Noelle typically didn’t care for breakfast, but if eating will keep her from seeing Nozel for a few minutes, then she’ll gladly indulge.

The dining room is elegant, about the size of a modern ballroom. Its theme is a neutral, classy cream tone, with small silver accents throughout. The table is long, with eleven seats around the table to accommodate the entire Silvamillion family tree. Tall windows were the main light source, with the manor’s large garden beyond them, allowing for a beautiful view as everyone ate. An elegant, traditional style chandelier hung over the table, expensive and beautiful.

Solid and Nebra are sitting at the table, engaged in simple conversation as they cut into their french toast. Noelle curses under her breath, feeling her body tremble at their intimidating, cruel aura. One glance at her and the insults will come spewing out, stabbing straight through her chest.

Noelle shakes her head, stepping toward the table. She takes a seat across from them, serving herself a simple plate of blueberry pancakes. Solid’s eyes, slim and cold, linger on Noelle as she tries to keep her gaze pointed on her plate. Nebra begins to giggle condescendingly, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“Good morning, failure,” Solid mocks, pointing his fork at her.

Well, at least he said good morning, Noelle rolls her eyes.

“How dare you roll your eyes at us?” Nebra sneers, glaring down at Noelle as though she’s not even significant as gum on the bottom of a shoe. The violet in her eyes full of utter disgust, her silver eyebrows furrowed. “Pathetic little girl. Why are you sitting at the same table as us, two people who’re much more fit to be CEO of Kontorōru? Is this your way of stalling, so that you won’t have to deal with Nozel treating you like the pathetic trash that you are?”

“Have you maybe considered the possibility that I just want to eat?” Noelle scowls, the grip on her fork turning her knuckles white.

Solid scoffs, dropping his own utensil. “Don’t play dumb, freak. You never eat breakfast with us.”

“Well, now I am, so there,” Noelle huffs, now thoroughly annoyed.

In an instant, before Noelle can even blink, Solid reaches over the table, knocking Noelle’s plate of food onto the ground. “Fucking brat!” He nearly growls, lips curled into a nasty snarl. “Know your place.”

Nebra laughs. “That’s what you get!”

Noelle stands, her eyes becoming glassy. The glass plate is broken, and food is sprawled everywhere on the otherwise spotless ground. Noelle exits the dining room, heading into the kitchen where one of the butlers, Hansburg, is standing over the stove, eyefully watching whatever is cooking.

The young Silva informs the man of the mess, to which he responds right away, gathering his cleaning supplies from the next room. Noelle gathers her things and heads out the door, not once looking back.

As she walks down the marble pathway, her hands subconsciously come up to the corners of her eyes. Tears.

Noelle wishes she could understand why she still cries, even when she should be used to their mistreatment by now. Is she still so weak, she can’t handle petty bullying? Why does it still affect her so much? How could she ever hope to run Kontorōru like this? 

Nozel can’t see her crying, it’ll only make things worse. Noelle wipes her tears with her wrists, holding back her sniffling.

Upon arriving at Nozel’s car, she opens the door and gets into the backseat. Once the door closes, Nozel starts up the car. Noelle can see the irritation in those purple eyes, cold and piercing. 

“Noelle,” Nozel greets bitterly.

“Nozel,” Noelle responds dryly.

As silence overcomes them, Noelle takes out her cellphone, the multiple messages from Mimosa catching her eye. What could that airhead want?

Opening the texts, Noelle realizes that Mimosa is rambling about the boy she has a crush on. Mimosa never dropped his name, but she’s had this crush since last year. At first, Noelle assumed it was Yuno, but as she went more and more into description, it became clear that it was definitely not him.

In her words, her crush was, “The cutest, shortest, dumbest, strongest, most hardworking boy in Clover Academy!” Noelle wanted to barf when she first heard those words. Is that what having a crush felt like? Saying a bunch of sappy things and getting all giddy when you spoke about them?

Romance was never Noelle’s thing, as she simply didn’t have the time, nor did she know anyone who was worthy for her. The only person she’d consider would be Yuno, but he’s gay, or bisexual, or whatever the hell — and their friendship is too good to let go of.

“Did you hear me, Noelle?” Nozel’s cold voice cuts through her thought process, annoyance laced in his tone.

“N-No, sorry.”

Nozel scoffs. “As expected. I said that you’ll be getting a schedule change. I saw the results of your baseline tests from last week, and the scores were unacceptable. Shall I recite them to you?”

Noelle’s eyes go wide. Baseline tests are the tests that everyone in Clover Academy takes during the first week of school, and there’s one for each academic class. It’s for the school to assess where a student is academically, but the scores typically couldn’t be enough reason to alter someone’s schedule. Those schedules are set in stone even before the first day of school.

Then again, this is Nozel — the dean of Clover Academy, and Noelle’s older brother. If that’s what he’s saying, then…

“I will take your silence as a decline. Very well. Starting next week, you will be taken out of AP classes and put into regular ones.”

AP classes, one of the most vital parts of a high school transcript. Every academic class she took was an AP since the second semester of freshman year, as it would set her transcript apart from everyone else’s when the time came to apply to Clover University. Those classes challenged her, allowed an escape from her cruel family, even if only for a while, mentally stimulating her brain. 

Everyone knew she was one of the smartest students attending Clover Academy, so how would they react to seeing her in the same class as them? Placed in the same environment as mediocre, underachieving fools! Imagine the ridicule, the taunting…!

“Hey, it’s Noelle Silva! Isn’t she supposed to be in advanced placement? Y’know, because she’s, like, super smart? Wonder what happened,” One would say.

“Probably let her grades slip. Her family must be super disappointed in her,” Another would respond.

“I can’t believe she’s the vice president of the student council. Everyone else on the council is way more accomplished than her. They’re not failures,” Someone would add.

Oh, no — the student council! What would they think?

Lumiere Silvamillion, Yuno Grinberryall, Mimosa Vermillion, and Klaus Lunettes — all incredibly intelligent students, their influence around the school is so powerful, they have more authority than a teacher. Could Noelle even hold a candle to them now?

“If you can manage only ninety-eight and above on every single test you take during this marking period, then I will place you back into your AP classes,” Nozel states, causing Noelle to instantly perk up. “The marking period ends on October twenty-ninth.”

Nozel is giving her a second chance! Never had she thought her older brother would have this much mercy on her, but she wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Plus, these are regular classes. Excelling on every single test for only a month and a half was practically child’s play. They probably didn’t have many tests in that timeframe anyway.

“O-Okay! I will! Thank you, Nozel!”

“Do not embarrass me, Noelle.”

Right — that was his main concern. That her incompetence would taint the Silva name.

“I won’t, older brother,” Noelle grits out, the phone in her hand nearly shattering in her grip.

☘︎︎

Once they arrive at the school, Nozel parks in the parking lot. As they get out, they take their separate paths to the school. Not a single farewell was uttered by either of them, they had parted in complete silence. Noelle wishes it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Noelle passes through the back garden, into the backdoors of the school, and up the spiral stairs. Arriving at the student council room on the second floor, she notices that Yuno is already there. That pretty boy just always had to show her up, huh? Yuno lives damn near three hours away! A few minutes away from a working class neighborhood called Hage, if Noelle remembers correctly.

“Hey,” Noelle greets, planting her bag down on one of the velvet seats.

Standing at the bookshelf, Yuno runs his fingers along a book of interest, offering Noelle a spare glance over his shoulder. “Good morning.”

Noelle plops down in another seat, resting her elbows on the table, her head in her palms. A breathy, exhausted sigh pulls from her lips as she watches her best friend flip through the pages of a novel. Noelle wants to tell him what Nozel had told her, but she’s scared. Before coming to Clover Academy, she was looked down on, blamed for her mother’s disappearance. Now that she’s found people who see her as an equal, who uplift her and make her happy, how could she let them down?

This sucks. Nozel sucks. Solid sucks. Nebra sucks. Being a Silva sucks. Why couldn’t she have been a Vermillion instead? Their family is full of so much warmth and kindness. They can be hardworking and strong without being cold, harsh, and too focused on control. Even though they’re a little headstrong and wild, Noelle would take that any day over the harsh treatment of her siblings.

“Something is bothering you,” Yuno’s flat voice states, shattering Noelle’s train of thought. She looks over, only to see him sitting next to her, the novel rested on the table. “You look completely out of it.”

Noelle chuckles lightly, humorlessly. The light in her eyes begins to dim. “Yeah, I guess there’s something on my mind,” Might as well rip the band-aid off, right? This is Yuno — they’ve come a long way together. It’ll be fine. “I won’t be in AP classes this marking period. My grades last week weren’t—” A sharp pause, those imaginary scenarios replaying in her mind once more, picking at her brain.

“The daughter of the richest family in Clover, and she’s here with us average level students? How embarrassing!”

“Serves that spoiled princess right! Let’s be honest, her downfall was bound to happen! It’s not like she’s as great as Yuno or Mimosa! I hope Lumiere finds a replacement for her on the student council, too! Then her false ego would really be shattered!”

“No kidding! Imagine what it’ll be like for her when she realizes she’s no better than the rest of us!”

The reality dawns on her, violet eyes staring down at trembling hands. The backs of her eyes burn with forming tears, her jaw clenching in pure fury and self-hatred. Why is she reacting again? The decision was already set in stone, she was already familiar with the situation.Why can’t she just be strong and accept it?!

Why must she be so weak…?

A hand grips her shoulder, diverting her attention to the point of pressure. Looking up, Yuno is standing there, staring down at her with his straight-faced, cool expression. Yet behind the cold stare, there’s a warmth behind his golden eyes reserved for very few people. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it,” Yuno says sternly. “You don’t have to explain it any further. I understand. Just stop beating yourself up already. Honestly, you’re such a drama queen,” The ends of his lips quirk upwards at those last few words, the small quip an attempt to lift Noelle’s spirits, even if only slightly.

Noelle manages a smile, appreciative of her best friend’s efforts. “Shut up,” The words lack any true venom, something more fond in her tone. “Can we switch the subject now? I don’t want to think about it.”

“We have to start planning for prom soon,” Yuno supplies, settling back down into his seat. The raven-haired male opens the novel on the desk, flipping through the pages, presumably searching for a specific one. Noelle watches curiously as Yuno stops after a moment, propping the thick book upright, turning it so that the open pages are facing Noelle. “Look here. This is a novel about Clover Academy’s glory. Prom is one of the biggest events here, as it is for most high schools. But we’re not just any public school, so ours is a major topic of discussion in the country. It generates exceptional revenue each year, and every year, we’ve managed to outdo the last.”

“All that is written in here?” Noelle blinks, lazily scanning over the text written in the book. It discusses the origin of Clover Academy’s prom traditions, and mentions all of the previous proms up until ten years ago, when the novel was published. “I see. Okay, well, this is only our second year here. We’ve only orchestrated one prom, which was last year, so how exactly do we figure out how to make the prom better than the ones from the past decade that aren’t mentioned here?”

“Those years are irrelevant to us. Mr. Novachrono has already said that we’ve bested the prom held the year before ours, so all we’ve got to do is be even better than last year. Got any ideas?”

In Clover Academy, the proms are orchestrated by the student council. Since the student council is constantly in rotation, considering there’s only four years in high school, the theme always varies from a wide range of things. Last year, the entire council was gone aside from Lumiere, who was a junior at the time. All the council members were off to college, so replacements were needed. Lumiere scouted for the most accomplished, innovative students, and got his current members to join. Not only would it look good on a college application, but it’d be a great opportunity to be involved in the school spirit and get closer to staff, which could get them a letter of recommendation for college.

The last prom was held in Deuce, a city on the west coast of Clover. In Deuce, there’s an old-timey castle overlooking the most beautiful waterfall in the country. It’s a government owned landmark, meaning it was restricted access. With the principal of Clover Academy, Julius Novachrono, being the brother of the current king, Augustus Kira Clover III, he was able to get his school to have access to it for the day. The theme was vintage, which meshed well with the vibe of the old castle. After using the school funds to fix it up some (though not too much, as to not take away its original charm and flair), and fill it with the prom decorations for the theme, their prom was a major hit.

To top that, they’d have to go somewhere beyond just across the country. Out of the country — but to where? Heart is an obvious first pick, as its natural landscape and easygoing government would make for a safe, fun trip there. Spade is a ways out, and the climate is rather harsh, but they’d be inside a building, anyway. The government there is a bit stricter, but still nothing too bad. Diamond, well… Diamond as a whole is a nice place, but there’s just so much controversy revolving as of now, with their government being corrupt and all, plus something about a human trafficking ring occurring over there. It’d be better to wait for that controversy to die down.

Noelle still needs to think about it, so she simply shrugs in response to Yuno’s question. “I’m thinking of having us go out of the country. I don’t have any specific ideas yet, but we can get to that once we have our first council meeting of the year. When’s that scheduled for again?”

“This Wednesday,” Yuno answers simply.

The door of the office creaks open, both teenagers turn their heads simultaneously. At first, Noelle expects it to be one of the other student council members, but a tall frame comes into view, taking them both by surprise.

Standing there is none other than Julius Novachrono, in his six foot glory with low-cut, blond hair and deep indigo eyes. The blue star tattoo on his forehead would be distracting, had the man not called attention with his mere presence alone.

“Mr. Novachrono,” Yuno greets, standing. Noelle stands, too. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Noelle says.

Julius smiles, the smile lines on his face appearing. “Good morning, my student council. Is it only you two here as of now?”

“Yes, sir. Mimosa and Klaus should be here soon. They’ve informed me of their location not too long ago, and they’re nearby,” Yuno explains. “As for Lumiere, I’m not sure.”

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Julius waves a hand dismissively. “My son is in the laboratory testing out some scientific theories. I’ll tell him to get down here as soon as possible. I’m just stopping by because I want to talk to you about prom. Have you brainstormed any good ideas yet?”

Noelle places a hand on her hip, her head tilting up the slightest bit. “Well, I’d like it to be out of the country. That’s all I’ve got, though.”

“Ah, an international prom! That’s a brilliant idea, Noelle! Any countries in mind? Would it be this continent, or another?”

“Well, another continent is really a step ahead from last year. I think this continent should be enough of an improvement. I can’t decide between Heart and Spade, though.”

“Only Heart and Spade? I see! Diamond is going through some really difficult challenges as of now, so it’s best to stay clear of them. Very smart,” Julius’ eyes glimmer in the way that a child’s would, the notion a bit off putting for Noelle and Yuno. “I knew Lumiere picked well when he brought you two onto the student council!”

Noelle’s cheeks go slightly pink at the praise, while Yuno simply nods. “Thank you, sir, that means a lot,” Yuno says. “As for the location, I think I have a way we can do both.”

Julius and Noelle perk up, intrigue brewing within them, their silence urging him to continue.

“We should have the prom on a cruise that passes through Heart and Spade, before returning back to Clover. Getting from Clover to Heart is easy, it’s not too long of a trip. But from Heart to Spade, and Spade back to Clover, you’d need to cross over the Joker Sea. It’s a way more expensive trip, and it’s way more lengthy. I still think it’s a good idea, though. Thoughts?”

“Yuno, that’s brilliant! It’ll be a little costly, but nothing we can’t handle! Thing is, a trip out of the country is something that requires more than just permission from me,” Julius tells them, pursing his lips. “We’ll need to orchestrate a meeting with the school board. The current president, Damnatio Kira, is a hardass — ah, pardon my language. Anyway, I’d like to propose an idea as to who should attend this meeting. Who I think could get him to see this from a different perspective, because as it stands, I can almost guarantee he’ll say no.”

“Really?” Noelle nearly whispers, a bit shocked. Noelle had heard of Damnatio, but not much. What could Julius suggest to get through to the man?

“We’re willing to do whatever it takes,” Yuno says, prompting Julius to continue. 

“A school official must be present with you, so I’m sending Marx. He won’t be much good for the convincing aspect, but not to worry, that’s why I’m sending Mimosa Vermillion, and a boy named Asta.”

Noelle doesn’t miss the way Yuno suddenly tenses, jaw clenching in slight irritation, though he keeps a poker face. Noelle blinks at that, turning her attention back to the principal for a further explanation. Who is Asta, and why did Yuno react like that?

“With all due respect, sir, what could he do for us?”

Julius laughs. “Ah, sounds like you know him!”

“Just barely. I’ve only met him once, and the interaction wasn’t long. I’ve heard quite a bit about him, though, which is why I don’t understand why you’re sending him to a meeting as important as this. If someone like Mr. Kira is there, how would Asta be beneficial?”

“Asta Staria is a remarkable kid, I must tell you. When he joined the school last year, I just knew he’d do great things. I won’t drop his entire resume on you or anything, but I just know he’ll be able to sway Damnatio. Please, I’d highly suggest you approach him and ask for his assistance.”

Noelle nods. “If you say so, sir. Do you know where we could find him?”

“He has football practice every day, from three-thirty to five-thirty, so try to get to the field before the starting time. The coach, Yami Sukehiro, doesn’t take kindly to people seeking out his players during practice hours.”

“Got it. Anything else, Mr. Novachrono?”

“Nope, that’s all! If Asta agrees, come find me and let me know so that I can get in contact with the school board and request a meeting. When that’s done, I’ll tell you all the details. Be sure to let Mimosa know, too!”

“Will do, thank you,” Yuno says.

“See you around, Mister,” Noelle smiles.

Julius gives a small nod before turning and leaving the office. Noelle turns to Yuno, who has his eyebrows furrowed in deep frustration, though his jaw is more relaxed now. The boy takes his seat, golden eyes glancing over at Noelle, who’s still standing, watching him with a calculative eye. Subtly, he gestures for her to take a seat, so she does, but raises an eyebrow all the while.

“You seem… a little annoyed.”

“Nah.”

Noelle frowns. “Don’t ‘nah’ me, I know something’s wrong!” She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. “Weren’t you the one giving me life advice not too long ago? Now you’re hiding stuff?”

“First off, it wasn’t life advice, it was in-the-moment advice—”

“Not the point!”

“Secondly, I’m not hiding anything. If you must know, I seriously don’t get how someone like him could be of use to us.”

“Like who? Asta? I noticed you got upset when Mr. Novachrono mentioned him. Who is he, and how do you know him? If you don’t like him, I don’t think I will, either.”

Yuno sighs. “That’s the boy who proposes to Sister Lily every day that they see each other, and he’s been doing that for the past ten years. Sister Lily says it’s not too big of a deal, that he only does it once a day and it’s just a childhood crush, but that’s still wrong to me. Why doesn’t he take no for an answer?”

“I admit, that’s gotta be agitating, but maybe he’s just immature and childish. Guys like him are annoying, though.”

“Yeah, he’s a complete moron, too. I’ve seen some of his test scores and overall grades, and I genuinely wonder how he passed middle school. Plus, he’s in trouble pretty often. I wonder what Mr. Novachrono sees in him.”

“Well, I’ll be able to gauge that for myself when I find him later today. Try not to let it get to you, okay?”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me!”

☘︎︎

After resting her bag on the bleachers, Noelle strides across the concrete ground, stopping right at the point where low-cut grass begins. It’s ten minutes before three, yet it seems as though the team has already started their practice. Fifteen boys are running laps around the field, while another fifteen are sitting on the concrete just a few inches away from her, sipping their water bottles graciously.

Rough, heavy footsteps approach, catching Noelle’s attention. Turning her head, she finds a huge, buff guy walking her way. No doubt that this is the coach, Yami Sukehiro. Noelle thinks she’s seen him around a few times, and she’s heard a bit about him, too, but nothing to base an opinion off of.

Once they’re face to face, Noelle feels a cold, unusual chill run through her bones. This man has an intimidating presence like no other, with that white tank top that his muscles are straining through, and that prickly looking stubble. Plus, the cigarette sitting between his lips, and the sharp, mahogany eyes — this guy looks like he’s just come straight out of prison!

“Good afternoon, Mr. Yami,” Noelle speaks evenly, staring up at the man with a look of indifference, as if to not let him see how intimidating he is hovering over her. “I’m here to talk to one of your players, if you don’t mind. It’s a request from Mr. Novachrono concerning prom.”

Yami raises a brow, scratching at the back of his incredibly thick neck. “About prom? From Julius himself? Wonder who that could be.”

“It’s Asta Staria.”

“What? No way!” Yami full on cackles, the sound resonating throughout the entire field. “What use could that dumbass be for planning a prom? I bet he’d put weights as decorations, and would be doing pushups instead of actually dancing, haha!”

Huh — Yuno said the same thing. The choice of words were definitely less, ah, colorful, if you will, but essentially they both believed the same thing. Noelle wonders what Julius could possibly see in that guy. The coach himself isn’t even believing this!

“Hey, kid, ain’t you Nozel’s child?”

Noelle blinks, shaking her head frantically. “N-No, of course not! I’m his younger sister, Noelle Silva.”

“Right, that’s it! My bad, kid. Well, Asta’s busy, so come back after practice,” The man says, pulling the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a faint, gray cloud. “I don’t know what insight he’d provide that’d be useful, but this better not be too time consuming. Football needs to be his priority, not some fancy dance.”

“No need to worry, sir. It’s just for a meeting, that’s all. It’s really a one time thing, he’ll probably forget he even helped us in due time.”

“Nah, that kid could never forget who he’s helped before. That’s just the kind of guy he is. I’m glad it ain’t gonna interfere with his football time, though.”

Asta could never forget who he’s helped before, huh? 

☘︎︎

Noelle returns back onto the football field after grabbing a bite to eat from a nearby cafe, the remnants of the sweet taste of a cherry tart lingering across her tongue.

On the bleachers, she finds Yami manspreading, blowing a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. The man is gazing up at the stars, but he seems to be intently listening to something. Noelle looks over, noticing a short boy sitting beside the elder man, a huge grin on his face as he speaks about something that’s inaudible from Noelle’s distance.

The silver-haired girl walks to the bleachers, snapping her fingers to catch their attention. Yami and the boy look at her, then Yami turns back to the boy and tells him something. The boy nods, and the two of them walk down the steps.

“He’s all yours,” Yami says to Noelle, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks off. “See you tomorrow, kid! Better improve that arm strength, or you’re dead.”

“Yes, Coach Yami!” The boy shouts.

Never did Noelle know someone who could yell this loud. 

“I, uh, don’t get what’s going on,” He turns to Noelle, scratching his nape with a sheepish smile, demonstrating his confusion. “Coach Yami didn’t say much, just that some girl wanted to talk to me about something. I guess that’s you! My name’s Asta!”

Asta extends his hand out as a kind gesture, those huge, green eyes of his practically radiating purity and joy. Noelle watches the little dimple on his right cheek form as he grins, a fang sticking out on the right side of his row of teeth. Everything about this guy just screams kind, and that upsets Noelle for a reason she can’t pin.

This guy is just a little insect, why should she be getting upset over someone like him? What does it matter if he’s kind, or weird, or whatever. The only reason she’s talking to him is because Julius asked her too, so that’s what she’ll do. No need to form new bonds with insignificant scum such as himself.

Noelle slaps that scarred, gnarly hand away from hers, glaring at him with pure apathy. “Noelle Silva. Do not offer your hand to me so casually, insect.”

“…Huh?”

“I’m here to ask you a favor on Mr. Novachrono’s behalf. The school has prom at the end of every year, as you may know. This year, we’re considering taking the school on a cruise, but we’ll need permission from the school board. The principal wants you to attend a meeting with them, along with Mimosa Vermillion and Mr. Francois.”

“Woah, really?” Asta beams, the glimmer in his eyes nearly blinding Noelle. It makes her scowl. “The principal himself wants me to go? Of course I will! I won’t let you down, Mr. Principal! Oh, and Mimosa’s going, too! Awesome!”

Noelle straightens up, narrowing her eyes at Asta. “You know Mimosa?”

Asta nods. “Yup! We’re friends! Oh, now that I think about it, I think I’ve seen her hanging around you before. I know! You must be the cousin she talks about sometimes! I should’ve figured from the name, but it kind of slipped my mind. You know—”

The rest of his words become naught but an ocean of white noise in Noelle’s ears, her mind too busy figuring out something. Mimosa had told Noelle that her crush was the “cutest, shortest, dumbest, strongest, most hardworking boy in Clover Academy.” This boy… cute? Not in Noelle’s eyes, at least — but he’s not really ugly, so maybe in someone like Mimosa’s eyes, he could be. Height wise, yeah, he’s incredibly short. Shorter than Noelle, actually. Dumbest? Yuno did mention his terrible grades, so that’s plausible. If he plays football, he must be pretty strong, right? That also means he’s a hard worker, too. Not to mention the way Julius described him.

So… could it be…

No. No way, right? Mimosa may be a bit of an airhead, but by no means is she stupid. Never would she allow her standards to stoop this low, would she? Then again, would Noelle put it past her? Mimosa has a history of having small crushes on complete wastes of time such as this one, but those were all in elementary and middle school! They’re teenagers now, she must have more sense.

Oh, whatever! Now is not the time for this. If anything, Noelle will ask the ginger girl later. For now, Noelle needs to tell Julius so that he can schedule the meeting right away. The quicker, the better.

“Come on,” Noelle interrupts whatever Asta was talking about, beginning to walk off. 

“Huh? Oh! Okay!” Asta jogs, catching up to Noelle. “Wait, where are we going?”

“To tell Mr. Novachrono that you’ll help us. This way, the meeting can occur sooner.”

“Oh, alright!”

“Are you always this loud?”

“Well, yeah!”

“Well, stop it. My ears hurt.”

“Whoops, sorry!”

“And you’re still yelling.”

☘︎︎

When Noelle and Asta met up with Julius, the man suggested for the two teenagers to go out together and try to brainstorm theme ideas for the prom while he speaks to the school board. Noelle had loathed the idea, but Julius insisted, mentioning something about how they could find inspiration anywhere in the city, or whatever. Asta was more than eager to accompany Noelle, so, to not make a fuss (as much as she wanted to), she agreed. Julius even lended them some yul.

(Well, more than just “some.” How rich is that guy, anyway?)

That’s why they’re here, at some random diner downtown that looks like a poor attempt at imitating a five star restaurant. Noelle doesn’t hate it by any means, but it’s not somewhere she’ll be coming back to. Even so, the dim lighting is almost romantic, and the beautiful flowers sitting atop the dark oak tables elevate the entire experience. Noelle really hopes nobody they know walks in on them and gets the wrong impression.

Noelle looks up from the menu, her choice of food already decided. Across from her, Asta is gawking at all the sophisticated decor and high-end waiters and waitresses. Seriously, how is a place like this so impressive to someone? How poor could someone be to have stars in their eyes at such a mediocre establishment? It’s barely a star above fast food joints.

“This is so awesome! I can’t believe Mr. Novachrono gave us money to wander around downtown! And look at all these choices!” Asta rambles, awestruck. Noelle scoffs. “Ooh, look at all these potatoes! Baked potatoes, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, steamed—”

“Okay, I get it!” Noelle snaps.

Asta looks up from his menu, chuckling sheepishly. “Sorry! I’ve just never been to somewhere so fancy before!”

“Fancy…” Noelle deadpans, glancing up at the tiny leak in the ceiling just a few feet away from their table, before lowering her gaze to Asta’s excited face again. “Riiight…”

“I’m feelin’ inspired already! What about you?”

“What about this is inspiring, moron?”

“Look at the beautiful suits the waiters and waitresses are wearing! And all the flowers! Ooh, and check out that huge fish tank over by the receptionist desk! There’s so many things to take from this!”

Noelle rubs her temples together, her eyes squeezing shut in a feeble attempt to keep the incoming headache at bay. “Stop. Screaming.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Asta says apologetically. “I know what I want to order. You?”

“Of course.”

A few more minutes pass before their waitress arrives and takes their order. Noelle tries not to grimace at Asta’s obvious display of excitement. The waitress is patient and kind, her pretty smile not once faltering. Noelle wishes she had that patience.

After more seconds of agony pass, the waitress finally leaves. Noelle wants to reprimand Asta for being such a bubbly, annoying rat, but all insults she prepares to spew out get caught in her throat as she catches a glimpse of ginger hair outside the door.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Asta stare quizzically at Noelle as she stares intently at the door, watching as none other than Mimosa Vermillion walks inside the diner. Just great — now she’s going to get the wrong idea.

Asta turns his head, instantly lighting up once he realizes who Noelle is looking at. Animatedly, he waves at her with a huge grin. “Hey! Mimosa!”

Mimosa’s chartreuse eyes flit over to Asta, widening a little as a slight blush coats her cheeks. The girl waves back, hers much less wild than Asta’s, before turning her attention back to the receptionist. 

So it’s true, huh?

Noelle tries not to scowl at the fact that Mimosa hadn’t even noticed her.

Mimosa makes her way to their table after a few moments, eyes trained on Asta. Noelle’s hands clench into tight, shaky fists, her nails almost drawing blood from her skin. How could Mimosa be so stupid?

“H-Hi, Asta!” Mimosa says, chipper as ever, though a little shy. “I’m so surprised to see you here! Are you— oh!” The airhead’s eyes finally meet Noelle’s, and they go a little wide once again. “Noelle? Good to see you! What, um, what are you doing here?” There’s a subtle shakiness in her voice.

“Good evening, Mimosa. I’m just here trying to find inspiration for a possible prom theme. Mr. Novachrono asked me to take Asta along, so here we are.”

“Oh! Uh, okay! I thought you were on a… d-date…” Her voice becomes small, meek. “U-Um, I mean—”

Noelle rolls her eyes, becoming agitated rather quickly with this entire situation. “Mimosa, take your jealousy somewhere else. I don’t have time for this. I’m not interested in your dumb romantic affairs, okay? I get that you’re somewhat of an idiot, but my standards aren’t low like yours, so quit it. It’s embarrassing.”

Mimosa stares, her hands clutched to her chest as her fingers fiddle, cheeks bright pink due to the humiliation. “Noelle, I wasn’t— I—”

“That’s no way to talk to your cousin!” Asta reprimands, frowning. “I mean, come on, that was super rude!”

Noelle’s eyes widen, face contorting with fury.

“A-Asta!” Mimosa gasps. “It’s alright, I promise—”

“Who are you talking to like that, bug?” Noelle spits harshly, slamming her fist on the table. “How dare you tell me, a Silva, how to talk to someone? Do you think you’re better than me? Do you think I’m below you like an insignificant insect beneath your feet?”

Something Nozel had told her once.

“Noelle, do not speak out of turn again,” Nozel told her years ago, when she had offered mere advice to Nozel during dinner as he spoke about a minor issue that Noelle can’t remember. What she does remember is that she simply wanted to seem useful to him, all so he would treat her better. “As if someone like you could offer any useful insight. What good is a mere bug beneath my feet? Remember your place, fool.”

Noelle refuses to let Asta think that of her — she is above him, he is the scuff of dirt beneath her shoe, and she’ll make sure he knows it. Because if even someone like Asta could see her as mere trash, then everyone could, and that’d make it true. What Noelle has been trying so hard to prove wrong her entire life would be the truth, and there’d be no point in trying to deny it any further.

“What? I don’t think that at all! I just don’t think you should be that rude to her! Mimosa is super kind, how could you be so mean to—”

“Shut up!” Noelle screams, barely registering his words. It doesn’t matter what he says, she won’t hear it. Nobody other than her siblings will see her as worthless garbage, it’s too much already hearing it from them. “I don’t care what you think, don’t speak to me so carelessly! Like you’re better than me, ‘cause you’re not!”

“That’s not what I’m—!”

“Asta, please drop it!” Mimosa shouts amidst the chaos, causing Asta and Noelle to stare up at her. Noelle is fuming, with wide, angry eyes and gritted teeth, her eyebrows furrowed and face red. Asta is simply confused, though a little upset. Mimosa attempts to rest a hand on Noelle’s shoulder in a comforting manner, but Noelle harshly shakes her shoulder, making Mimosa retract her hand. “I think me and Asta should go…”

“Fine, go, whatever! I don’t care!”

“Excuse me, you all are being very disruptive,” A waitress says. “I’m going to need you all to take your leave now. I’m sorry.”

☘︎︎ | ✤✤✤

Asta and Mimosa find themselves in a solemn silence as they walk down the street, both overthinking the events that occurred only ten minutes ago.

Noelle had stormed off, and Asta had this odd urge to follow her and try to understand her random outburst, but he just listened to Mimosa and allowed her to be on her own.

It was just so weird how Noelle made up so many assumptions just because Asta didn’t agree with her tone. Asta can’t help but wonder what could have triggered her like that, because he didn’t say anything wrong! Why would she think that Asta saw her as some lesser being? Like she was an insect beneath his feet? What does that even mean?

Did she have some sort of… what did Secré say a few months ago… ah! Victim complex! Is that what it is? It sure seemed like that, because as far as Asta is concerned, Noelle was the one in the wrong for being so harsh to Mimosa for no reason. Nobody even did anything to her, and yet she was freaking out.

Asta doesn’t think he’ll ever get her.

“I’m sorry about that,” Mimosa suddenly says amidst the silence. “Noelle can, um, get like that sometimes.”

“It’s no problem,” Asta grins at her. “I just had to stick up for you. You’re my friend, after all!”

Mimosa drops her gaze to the smooth pavement beneath her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear, revealing the pink tips. Is she blushing? Must be cold. “Well, thank you… Asta.”

“I think we should hang out a bit to get your mind off of that whole thing. How’s ice cream sound? I have a little bit of Mr. Novachrono’s money.”

✤✤✤

Asta. Is. Asking. Her. To. Get. Ice. Cream. With. Him.

Mimosa places her palms on her cheeks, keeping her head down as she focuses on the ground beneath her. The warmth of her skin is alarming, and if she looks up at Asta, she’ll be all red and blotchy.

“Mimosa?”

“Yes!” Mimosa squeaks out, instantly grimacing at the sound of her voice. Clearing her throat, she removes her hands from her face, sparing Asta a quick glance. “I, um, yes, I would like to get ice cream with you, Asta.”

“Awesome!”

They walk around for a bit before finding an ice cream stand right outside of a park. Mimosa asks for strawberry ice-cream, and Asta asks for chocolate. After getting their cones, Mimosa suggests they go sit in the park as they eat. Asta agrees easily, and they sit on a bench together. It’s almost seven, but the sky isn’t too dark yet. It’s only the beginning of September, after all.

Mimosa giggles and responds to everything Asta says, watching with hearts in her eyes as the boy moves animatedly and enthusiastically, discussing whatever comes to mind. Asta takes interest in just about everything Mimosa says, and always has a lengthy, excited response. It makes Mimosa so happy knowing that they can talk so easily together, and he genuinely cares about what she likes.

When she glances down at the small space between them on the bench, she can see that their hands are mere centimeters away. If she would just move the slightest bit closer, their pinkies would brush against each other. Oh, what Mimosa would do to be able to hold his hand, even if for just a second. Should she just quickly have their skin brush against each other? Would that be too bold? Would Asta notice?

Glancing over at the boy in question, she sees that he’s looking up at a cloud, still speaking about the topic at hand. Mimosa feels her heart skip a beat at their proximity, where she can make out all the small, beautiful details about Asta. Viridian eyes, so large and sparkling, flecks of blue could be maken out underneath the glowing orange sun. His eyelashes aren’t long, but they’re full and thick. The baby fat on his cheeks are dusted a faint pink as he smiles — oh, that smile. It’s so handsome, so sweet, so kind. And his cute little button nose — like a little puppy! Aw, Mimosa wants to poke it just once.

God, she is so whipped.

Mimosa decides to take a small chance. The girl slides over the tiniest bit, their pinkies brushing. Asta turns to look at her, and Mimosa simply smiles, silently urging him to continue speaking. Asta smiles, too, seeming unbothered as he continues to talk. His warmth radiates off of her, and she basks in it like it’s a hot spring.

One day, she’ll confess.

One day.

Chapter Text

act iv

“Handsome Jerk”

The lobby of the school board’s HQ exudes modern elegance, carrying a rather gloomy ambiance. Sleek, pewter panels stretch down to the dark, smooth tile installed in the floor. The recessed lighting is dim, soft, as the natural light coming through the windows provides enough illumination, casting a glow along the otherwise dark space. The reception desk is a polished stone, matching the shade of the walls. A large desktop sits on the far right, and a black pencil holder on the left. In the center is a stack of papers, some slipping out from the pile, some even scattered on the ground in front of the desk.

In complete contrast to the muted scene, hot pink hair is tied into two low ponytails, shaped as bows, on the receptionist’s head. Eyes the shade of diamonds, large and full of mascara, stare down at the mess atop the desk, a gel pen twirling in her left hand.

Marx adjusts his striped tie, approaching the woman. Asta and Mimosa follow suit, sharing a quick glance with each other before returning their gaze to the receptionist. Marx kneels, picking up the papers scattered about before rising to his feet and straightening them out, placing them next to the pile on the desk. At the gesture, the woman looks up, startled.

“Oh! Thank you!”

“It’s no problem, ma’am. We’re with Clover Academy,” Marx slips out his ID from his pocket, holding it up to her. “We have a scheduled meeting with the school board at eight-thirty.”

The receptionist smiles widely, laying her glittery pen atop the desk before rapidly clicking on the computer. “Yes, that’s right! I remember the principal giving me a call! Give me a second, let me just pull up the file…” She sticks her tongue out in concentration, eyebrows knitted together.

“No problem, take your time.”

“Ah, here it is!” Sparkling eyes glance up at Marx’s ID, then back to her screen. “Okay, there we go… you’re all set! The meeting room is on the tenth floor, room 1031. It’s on the left.”

Marx nods, putting his ID away. “Thank you.”

☘︎︎

Just like the lobby, the meeting room is incredibly grayscale, lacking any vibrancy. Marx, Asta, and Mimosa are seated at the long, rectangular table, where six women and six men are seated. Standing at the front of the room, beside a projector, is a man who Asta can only assume to be Damnatio Kira. Asta has never seen the guy before, but he’s heard much about him, especially in the coming days in order to prepare him for this meeting.

The man stands at an inch below six feet, with hair the shade of onyx meticulously slicked back, save for the single strand that hung loosely over his forehead. Damnatio’s eyes, the shade of slate blue, hold such intense judgment in them as they coldly stare down at whatever the man is watching. The beauty mark just beneath his lower lip reminds Asta of the one Sister Lily has, though it doesn’t look even a fraction as beautiful on Damnatio as it does on Sister Lily.

Damnatio wears an earthy green robe, completely contrasting the finely pressed suits worn by the twelve other school board members. In his right hand, he holds an antique, golden scale. Asta wonders what that could be for.

“I thank you all for attending today,” Damnatio begins, cold eyes surveying the room intently. “Marx Francois, Asta Staria, and Mimosa Vermillion — representing Clover Academy. It is a pleasure to have you with us, and I hope this meeting will be productive and we can come to a proper conclusion.”

“Thank you for having us,” Marx says.

“In this meeting, we will be discussing the subject of Clover Academy’s prom — an event that generates great revenue for not only the school, but the country as well. Principal Novachrono’s relation to King Augustus Kira Clover III creates a strong bond between the school and the government, allowing for a generous cash flow that is incredibly beneficial to the country. Clover Academy wants to purchase a cruise ship and travel outside of the country for this year’s prom. Is that correct?”

Marx nods. “Yes, that’s correct.”

Damnatio hums, keeping his gaze locked on Marx as his left arm moves in one motion, clicking a single button on the white, sleek projector. A photograph of a shipwreck is displayed up on the screen, catching all three Clover Academy representatives off guard.

“This is a wreck that occurred just seven months ago. A group of billionaires bought a cruise, planning to traverse across the Heart Country and return safely. The bodies of water between Heart and Clover are nowhere near as vast as the Joker Sea, yet this incident left all seven men deceased. If Clover Academy plans to take four-thousand students, give or take, across the Joker Sea, the results could be catastrophic. The chance may be small, yes, but it’s not zero. It was risky enough having the school purchase several private jets in order to travel across the country the previous year. I assume not many parents were ecstatic about that?”

Asta finds himself appalled at the sudden direction the meeting had taken, staring at the projected display with wide eyes. Wasn’t this a little… dramatic? Of course there are going to be risks while traveling overseas, but to just pull up a photo of such a traumatic event barely a minute into the meeting in order to prove a point? Asta now understands why people describe him the way they do.

“With all due respect, sir, with such a diverse school, there are bound to be certain parents that worry more than others, and it’s normal for them to worry about such a far away trip,” Marx explains. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t taking the proper precautions and receiving the permission from said parents. If a parent is truly too anxious to allow their student to travel with the school, that student will not be permitted to go under any circumstances.”

Damnatio stares coldly at the blue-haired man, internally critiquing him. “I see. Mr. Francois, let’s put this into perspective. I, the president of the school board, allows Clover Academy to send their students on this long journey through two foreign countries, across a massive sea, not just once, but twice. God forbid the cruises hosting the students malfunctions, or gets into an accident, or whatever the case may be. You can only assume there’ll be casualties in this scenario. A massive amount of casualties. How do you think people will see the school board after having us allow this? What do you think will become of Ace City’s educational system once people lose trust in us?”

“Sir, it sounds a lot like you’re more concerned with your reputation than the actual safety of the students,” Asta says firmly, careful not to step over the border of imposing.

“What gives you that idea?” Pure disgust drips right off of Damnatio’s tongue as he addresses Asta, something cruel and nasty in his cold, hard gaze.

Asta doesn’t yield under the man’s disposition, returning a stare just as hard. “You make it sound like you’re worried that the cruise might have an accident, but I can tell you just wanna protect your own skin. The first thing you asked after giving us that scenario was how people would perceive the school board, but I know the real question hiding underneath that was how would people perceive you.”

“Well, aren’t you a rather blunt one? I guess this is why Julius brought you. To challenge me head on. This meeting is scheduled for only thirty minutes. If you cannot rebuttal my concerns efficiently, then you will have failed Principal Novachrono.”

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

“Yet you think the best way to do that is by claiming that I’m concerned about my own reputation and not the students? And so boldly and rash?”

“I didn’t mention that as an attempt to rebuttal your concerns, I mentioned it because it’s wrong.”

Damnatio’s nose tilts upward, the slightest bit. “Caring about my reputation is wrong? Believe it or not, everyone cares about how people perceive them, whether they want to or not. It’s human nature. I won’t risk my reputability for a teenage dance. Not unless you manage to make a compelling argument that combats all my points.”

“I don’t give a damn about human nature, or any of that crap. If you only care about your rep, fine, that’s not my problem. Just don’t sit here and act like you’re right for it.”

Mimosa lightly nudges Asta with her elbow, that sickeningly sweet smile on her face twitching with worry. “Asta, I think you’re going a little too far. At this rate, we’ll never—”

“Who are you to determine what is right and wrong?”

Asta frowns. “I—”

“We’re terribly sorry, Mr. Kira. Asta tends to be a bit outspoken, but he means no ill,” Mimosa speaks up, using her sweet, perfect charm to ease the tension. “Please, let us get back to the matter at hand. I believe we can convince you to allow our school on this trip. To address your concerns, we are aware of the risks that can occur overseas, especially with a large number of people. We will be sure to do extensive research on choosing a cruise line that provides the safest experience, and we will make sure to have enough life jackets to accommodate everyone, as well as have nearby rescuers on the seas that can be contacted easily if something were to go wrong. However, I am confident that the trip will not require any of that, and that it will be enjoyable and safe all the way through.”

Asta watches in awe as Mimosa handles the situation with equal parts confidence and respect. The girl sits up straight, a determined glint in her round, downturned eyes. Mimosa was typically soft spoken, but he knew that even she could speak with strong conviction in her voice, and he thinks that’s one of the things that makes her so great. No wonder Julius assigned her to attend this meeting.

“Mimosa Vermillion, youngest daughter of the Vermillion family. The Vermillions are the second richest family in the world, owning a massive tech company that practically revolutionized the world. I can only imagine the uproar that would occur if anything tragic were to happen to you. As a matter of fact, the majority of your family attend Clover Academy. Kirsch Vermillion, Leopold Vermillion, Mereoleona Vermillion, Fuegoleon Vermillion — all liabilities. Not to mention those of the Silva family. Though Acier is abroad and two of her children attend college, the two most qualified people to take Acier’s spot as the CEO of Kontorōru attend Clover Academy, one as a student, and the other, a dean. Do you see my point?”

Mimosa’s eyes narrow, her gaze nearly boring a hole through Damnatio’s head. “No, I don’t.”

“Silva and Vermillion are the two most influential names in this country, and they have been for centuries. I cannot afford having something happen to a large portion of the family tree. It could disrupt the economy, and I’d be held responsible. I simply refuse to carry such a burden.”

“Again, we will take the precautions necessary to prevent such from happening. However, if our precautions are not enough, then I assure you that you won’t be the one taking the most blame. Mr. Novachrono will,” There’s a sharper, much more irritated tone in Mimosa’s kind voice. “As for the economy, as long as Miss Acier and my parents are alive, then I can guarantee you that the influence of our family will not falter. They are more than capable of keeping up their business and generating wealth for the economy. Even once our bloodline dies out, we have close relations to other names in power that can surely take our business in due time.”

“I’m surprised you would say that. It is common knowledge, even amongst those who aren’t all that familiar with the Silva and Vermillion names, that only those who bear those names are deemed as worthy enough to run their businesses. Regardless of how close families are to those two bloodlines, the businesses they own are too precious to just break away from those names and into the hands of a complete outsider. You of all people should know that.”

Asta feels smoke practically rise from his head as his brain struggles to absorb all this information that, quite frankly, seems to be completely irrelevant. All Asta hears is “Silva” this and “Vermillion” that — what does any of that have to do with anything? It sounds like there’s an underlying issue here that goes beyond the original topic at hand.

“I believe we’re getting off track,” Marx steps in, voice stern. “Mr. Kira, we’ve addressed your safety concerns as thoroughly as possible. Are there any other concerns you may have that we can speak about?”

“I’d beg to differ, but I digress. Let’s speak about finances. To accommodate the amount of students you have, you’ll need more than one cruise. That will be a major bill. Now, I understand Clover Academy is a very wealthy school, but that doesn’t mean its funds are endless. There are still other things the school has to use its money for. How can you be sure that such a purchase will not impact other school activities and necessities?”

As the meeting steers in a less tense direction, Asta feels a weight that he was unaware of lift from his shoulders. As they’re talking, though, he notices that the twelve other people present don’t say a word. Each time he spares them a glance, they seem to be deeply engaged in the topic at hand, showing subtle signs that they’re taking note of what people are saying — like squinting at a certain point made, or scratching their chin while glancing up in thought. Yet they never actually talk. Asta assumes there’ll be a vote at the end of the meeting, and that’s when their opinion will be known.

☘︎︎

“Okay, no one has any further questions, so we will now take a vote. All in favor of allowing Clover Academy to host their prom on a cruise, raise a hand. If not, keep your hand down. Of course, the three representatives will not vote, and I will not, either — however, if there is a tie, I will be the tie breaker,” Damnatio announces, voice leveled. 

And then, the votes are cast.

Two women and three men raise a hand — five in total of twelve. The majority of the school board has decided to not allow them to have the prom on a cruise.

Asta feels his teeth grind, mind immediately flashing back to the words Noelle had spoken to him when they first met.

“I’m here to ask you a favor on Mr. Novachrono’s behalf. The school has prom at the end of every year, as you may know. This year, we’re considering taking the school on a cruise, but we’ll need permission from the school board. The principal wants you to attend a meeting with them, along with Mimosa Vermillion and Mr. Francois.”

Julius had asked for him personally, and he couldn’t even do something as simple as this. Asta was great at convincing people! Despite his idiocy and brashness, he always spoke with such conviction and certainty, people typically felt they had no choice but to trust him. This can’t be how this ends! Julius would be so disappointed in him, all the trust he put in Asta would be for nothing.

“Very well. Meeting adjour—”

“Hold on a sec!” Asta shouts abruptly, all eyes darting towards him. “Come on, you guys have to hear us out! I mean, what haven’t we convinced you on?”

There’s a light nudge in his rib, a soft, nervous chuckle following the action. “Asta, I think we’re done here,” Mimosa whispers urgently. 

Asta turns his head to her, his eyebrows furrowing. “We can’t give up! Mr. Novachrono entrusted this to us, so we have to follow it all the way through, whatever it takes!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Marx hisses through gritted teeth, eyes the shade of a canary darting back and forth between Asta’s determined expression, and Damnatio’s unimpressed one. “It’s just a prom, we can easily come up with a different idea, we’re only two weeks into school. Prom isn’t until May.”

“This isn’t necessarily about prom, though! We just can’t let Mr. Novachrono down! He—”

“That’s enough out of you, boy,” Damnatio interjects coldly, taking a simple step toward the table. “I don’t know what it is about Julius, but his mere existence forces people to want to bend to his will. You’re a great example of this. So what if he asked you to come here today? Why is that so important to you?”

Why is that so important to him, huh? Asta locks eyes with Damnatio, not once letting his gaze falter. The man watches him expectantly, almost a humorous expression displaying behind that flat, cold stare, like he can’t wait to hear what Asta has to say so he can completely disregard it, calling it foolish, or a waste of time. Asta can just hear the condescendence in his voice simply by staring at him. Even so, he won’t let Damnatio shoot him down. Not without a fight.

“Mr. Novachrono doesn’t force people to bend to his will, as you put it. He gets people to respect him, to look up to him, and he doesn’t do it by merely existing. He worked hard to get to where he is, and to get our school to where it is today. Not only has he done stuff for the school, but for the entire country. I want to be like him someday. A man who fights for what’s important to him through hard work. I want to get results, to prove I’m the greatest.”

“Fine, then,” Damnatio says easily, catching Asta by surprise. Was it that easy? “If it means so much to you to prove yourself to this man, then I will allow you to do so. Despite the popular vote, I will allow Clover Academy to host their prom on a cruise.”

“Really? Just like that?” Asta asks, dumbstruck.

Damnatio gives a singular, curt nod. “Yes. It isn’t because I’ve taken a liking to you. Not in the slightest.”

“Then… why?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone with the passion that you hold in your eyes. As annoying as you may be, I respect the determination,” The man tells him earnestly, his sharp features relaxing a bit, though his eyes still held a judgmental look in them. “Plus, had I said no, Julius would probably come up here and try to talk me into it. Anyway, this meeting is adjourned. Have a good day.”

☘︎︎

“Nice going, Asta!” Mimosa cheers, holding her hand up for a high five.

They’re walking along the busy city streets of Ace City, just a block away from the school board’s HQ. Cars whiz by, citizens mingle along the sidewalks, some with bags in their hands, some on phone calls, and others simply enjoying a stroll. It’s pretty peaceful. 

Asta grins proudly, connecting their palms together with a loud smack. “Thanks! You did good, too!” Viridian eyes drift towards Marx. “You, too, Mushroom Head!”

Marx sighs, glaring at the younger male. “I told you to stop calling me that. You and that football coach of yours seriously have no respect whatsoever,” Even so, he smiles despite himself. “But, I am glad we got that out of the way. Now, we choose a cruise line.”

“Oh, no need to worry about that. Yuno’s got that handled,” Mimosa informs. “In fact, I planned to meet up with him after the meeting. He should be with a company now checking out the various boats that can accommodate the entire school. I’d like to get a look for myself so we can be sure we choose the right one. Not that I don’t have faith in Yuno’s judgment — in fact, his judgment is probably better than mine — but it’s better to have multiple opinions than just one. Asta, I think it’d be nice if you came, too…” She says with a slight blush. “Of course, if you want to, that is!”

Yuno. Asta hasn’t forgotten about that handsome, smug bastard. In all honesty, Asta would rather jump off a building than have to endure seeing that stupidly pretty smirk of his, or hearing his condescending, “I’m so much better than you” attitude — but Mimosa is sweet, and she’s asking him out of the kindness of her heart. Asta couldn’t refuse his friend. Plus, he’s never seen a cruise in person before! No way is he going to miss out on this opportunity.

“Sure, I’ll tag along,” He tells her with a smile. “Could be fun, right?”

Mimosa smiles brightly, nodding. “Right!”

“I’ll drive you guys there, but I won’t be staying with you. I have other matters to attend to,” Marx says.

“That’s no problem, Mr. Francois. We’re grateful for you taking us.”

“Yeah, Mushroom Head! You’re super nice!”

“Ugh.”

☘︎︎

Asta and Mimosa walk along the dock over the relatively shallow waters of the Joker Sea, as it’s merely the shore alongside the beach. Along the dock, a row of beautiful, expensive cruises sit prettily, sparkling underneath the sun in all their glory. Asta is awestruck at every single one, wondering how such magnificent boats exist. They must cost a fortune!

Mimosa giggles sweetly behind her hand, catching Asta’s attention. “Do you like what you see?” She asks, gesturing a petite hand at all the boats.

“Heck yeah, I do!” Asta replies enthusiastically, grinning widely. “I mean, this place is friggin’ awesome! I can’t believe I’m going to be riding one of these in May!”

“It is quite impressive,” The ginger says. “I’ve been on plenty of cruises, but even so, these are nothing to scoff at — oh!” Just then, her attention is caught by a figure standing way down the wooden dock. “There’s Yuno. Come on, Asta.”

Asta does his best to hide his emerging scowl, resting his hands behind his head to appear more “laid-back” as he follows Mimosa down the dock, over to Yuno. 

Yuno stands tall with a hand on his hip, the other caressing his chin in that same condescending manner as his golden eyes examine the large cruise in front of him critically. Asta turns to look, and his breath is nearly snatched away. The ship is long, with a sleek, pure white coat of paint. It’s several decks high, towering over the three teens. What really gets Asta, though, is the mini amusement park sitting at the top of the ship, stretching across the entire thing. It’s daylight now, and there are no lights on, so it doesn’t seem impressive — but imagining it in the dark of night, glowing with various neon lights, Asta couldn’t even fathom how beautiful it’d look in real time. The image in his head surely isn’t doing it any justice. Pools, waterslides, bars, an arcade, and so much more, all just sitting there, waiting to be lit up and full of young, reckless teenagers.

To think they’ll all be on that ship just a few months from now, traversing through three entire countries — oh, wow.

“It’s so… cool!” Asta shouts, his disdain for Yuno quickly forgotten amidst his bubbling excitement.

“Yes, this is marvelous! I think this will be a great pick! It truly stands out from the rest,” Mimosa agrees, marveling at the beast of a ship. “Though, despite its wonderful size, I do think we’ll need another one exactly like this to safely and comfortably accommodate all the attending students.”

Yuno hums thoughtfully, sparing the two shorter teens a quick glance before returning his attention to the large boat. However, instead of making any comment on Mimosa’s proposal, or his own opinion on the cruise ship, he simply goes, “Why is he here?”

Mimosa blinks, seemingly confused by Yuno’s sudden irritation. “Well, I— I invited him here because he’s my friend. I didn’t think that’d be a problem…”

Asta stalks over to Yuno calmly, feeling Mimosa’s worried gaze follow his tracks as he stands toe to toe with the taller male, looking him in the eye with more irritation rather than flat out anger. It’s then that he grabs Yuno’s stupid button-down shirt by the collar, pulling him down to his height. Yuno seems stunned for just a split second, a “blink and you miss it” kind of thing — but Asta hasn’t blinked once. That cold, calculating demeanor returns milliseconds after. 

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is with me,” Asta starts off calmly, taking a deep breath before letting it all spill out. “But, man, you’re really starting to piss me off!” He shouts, letting go of Yuno and pointing an accusing finger at him. “I mean, seriously! I’ve done absolutely nothing to you, and yet you have this weird dislike for me! Why is that?!”

A moment of silence passes, with Yuno watching Asta with complete apathy. A breeze of cool, autumn wind blows by, and Yuno finally speaks.

“Didn’t I already tell you?”

“Huh?” Asta tilts his head, blinking owlishly. “You… did?”

“When Sister Lily introduced me to you in the council’s office. I told you right then and there. You don’t understand boundaries, you’re a moron, and you’re a troublemaker. None of those qualities are worth liking, so why would I like you?”

That fucking asshole! Saying such things like it’s no big deal, like he’s explaining something as simple as the alphabet to a toddler! Asta tries to restrain himself, he really does — but all that he feels his pure, hot rage. Just once, he wants to slam his fist into that stupid, cocky face of his — let him taste the iron of his blood, maybe readjust his nose to the side a little. Anything to get it in his big, dumb head that he’s not better than anyone. 

Asta’s not a violent guy, he’s really not. Unfortunately, he’s not the sweetest ball of sunshine either, despite his bright grins and cheerful, exuberant voice. Maybe he’s limboing somewhere between Mimosa and Noelle when it comes to how easy it is to get him irritated.

So, that said, he’ll just satisfy that nagging in his head telling him to just do it, put this jerk in his place just once. Then, he’ll never do it again!

In one swift motion, his hands curl into tight fists, and go flying straight towards Yuno’s nose — but it doesn’t connect.

Around his wrist is another hand — not Yuno’s, not Mimosa’s. Asta turns his head, following the hand up to the arm, the shoulder, and then the head. It’s… a man? Dark brown hair sits neatly swept to the side atop his head, and his eyes are sharp, the irises matching the shade of deep smoke.

Next to him is a woman. Barely an inch shorter, with short, blonde hair and round, scarlet eyes. The shade was incredibly familiar to him, but he was too confused to really register the resemblance.

The stranger releases his grip from Asta’s skin, and Asta lets his hand fall to his side. The man smiles gently, the corners of his eyes crinkling the slightest bit.

“Well, it’s a good thing that didn’t happen, am I right? The name’s Edwin. I own all these ships here, as does this beautiful woman, my wife, Kina.”

Kina smiles pleasantly. “It’s very nice to meet you three.”

Mimosa steps forward, extending a hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sincerely sorry for what just transpired. It was incredibly disrespectful, and is a poor reflection on Clover Academy.”

Edwin chuckles lightly, taking her hand for a quick shake before letting go. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all! It’s just good I was here to stop that punch,” He directs his attention to Asta. “Speaking of — you’ve got a mean right hook.”

Asta looks away sheepishly. “Oh, uh— thank you? And I’m sorry, too. For, y’know, all that.”

“As am I. It was immature,” Yuno adds. Asta glares.

“Asta causing trouble? Why am I not surprised?” A soft, monotone voice says from just feet away, and Asta looks past Edwin, eyes widening just slightly as the raven-haired, petite girl approaches the four.

“Secré? What are you doing here?”

“These two are my aunt and uncle. They own this cruise line.”

“Wait, really?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s a known fact to Asta that Secré is rich — they’ve been friends since middle school, of course he knew that by now. Thing is, he never really knew how. Secré never spoke about her family, only mentioning that those vampire-ish people in the portrait hung in the living room of her mansion were her deceased parents, and that said mansion belonged to her aunt and uncle who left it to her after her parents’ death. 

Secré gestures towards Asta, looking up at the adults. “This is Asta, my best friend.”

“Oh, so this is Asta,” Kina says kindly, giving a gentle pat to his head. “I’ve heard much about you.”

Asta looks over at Secré, who turns her head to the side, refusing to meet his gaze. A grin stretches across his face. “Aw, does Secré talk about me? I hope it’s all good things!”

Kina hums, contemplating for a mere moment. “I mean, the words certainly aren’t friendly. She calls you a reckless idiot quite often, and says your voice is louder than a banshee. It irritates her to no end, according to her,” A soft smile graces her lips. “However, I can read between the lines. You mean a lot to her. If she were truly upset with you, she’d have stopped being your friend long ago. To even have her refer to you as a best friend is an impressive feat.”

“Aunt Kina, please stop. It’s not that serious,” Secré mutters, still facing the ground.

Asta grin slips into something a little softer, mirth in his eyes. No matter what happened, he would always be grateful for Secré. They were so different, yet worked so well together. It was nice to know that she said kind things about him, even if they were hidden behind harsh words.

“If it’s any consultation, I appreciate it,” Asta offers, patting her shoulder.

“That’s not any consultation at all, moron.”

Yuno steps up, shoulder to shoulder with Asta — well, hypothetically, of course. Yuno is almost an entire foot taller. Damn him. “I hate to ruin the moment, but could we discuss the pricing for the cruise now?” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Edwin says reassuringly, ruffling through Secré’s hair. “We were just curious about our niece here and those she holds dear to her. Are… you two also friends of hers? Sorry to be nosy, but she doesn’t tell us much. Our curiosity is piqued.”

“I don’t know her at all, sir,” Yuno replies, voice strained as irritation bled in his words.

“I’m acquainted with her,” Mimosa says. She, too, seems to become a little impatient, though she hides it much better than Yuno does. “Now, about the cruise…?”

“Alright, let’s discuss that. This cruise ship is our best beauty — our pride and joy. Like all cruise lines, prices range depending on the amount of time you’ll be spending on it, as well as where you’ll be headed for the duration of the time. Are you guys looking for something in a specific budget?”

Yuno shakes his head. “No, we’re open to all prices.”

Edwin beams at that. “Wonderful! Our minimum price for this beauty is five million, which is a three night stay. That is under the premise that the cruise will remain in Clover Country waters. Traveling to foreign countries will increase the price. Lengthening your stay will increase pricing, as well. Of course, if you’re planning to travel far, the length of your stay will inevitably increase. That’s just logic.”

Asta’s eyes nearly pop out of his sockets, his head whipping back and forth, ash-colored hair blowing in the wind, to see if anyone else is as mortified as him. F-F-Five million?! Like, five million yul? The currency that the entire continent ran on? The five million with, like, six zeros after the five? That five million?! That’s insane! Preposterous! Unheard of, even!

Of course a luxury cruise line would charge a hefty amount, but all that for just three nights with the thing? And they had to stay in Clover? Holy shit, imagine what it’ll cost after they discuss the original plan, which is to travel to two foreign countries.

Despite the blasphemous pricing, no one seems all that shocked. In fact, Yuno and Mimosa seem to be contemplating deeply, like this cost is something a simple credit card swipe could handle. Asta doesn’t know for sure, but if he had to guess, then he’d say Yuno is another rich kid, just like Mimosa and Secré. Man, it’s so odd being the only poor one surrounded by people swimming in yul like it’s nothing. 

“How much will it be for a two week stay, with a path that takes us from Clover to Heart, then from Heart across the Joker Sea to Spade, and back across to Clover?” Yuno inquires.

“My, my, what a trip!” Edwin exclaims. “If I were to make an estimate standing here right now, I’d say… around twenty million.”

What?!

“Of course, that’s simply a mere estimate. It could cost more or less depending on plenty of factors that we’ll discuss when we have the paperwork. If you’d like, we could head into the office now and have a deeper discussion on the matter.”

“Yes, but one more question. Do you have another cruise in that exact model? We’ll need two.”

“Yep, we absolutely do,” The man nods. “If that’s all, let us discuss in further detail in the office. Oh, and I know you’re with Clover Academy, but I’ll still need an adult with the school to come down here to sign all the legal documents.”

Damn it. If only Marx hadn’t left. Shouldn’t he have known they’d need an adult to handle a major purchase like this? He said he had important matters to attend to, but he could have at least sent another adult in his place.

“That’s fine, I can call someone down here,” Yuno says easily. “Mimosa, if you want, you can go home. You, too,” He glares at Asta, not even bothering to mention his name.

Asta hates how smooth his tone is, how collected he is, seeming to always have everything under control, like he runs the place or something. Asta gets jealous like any other human, but it doesn’t usually eat at him like this. It’s like he hears that even, calm tone and it blows away every semblance of resolve in his body, having it drift in the wind as the only coherent thought in his mind is to one-up him.

“Oh, sure!” Mimosa smiles.

“I’ll stay here,” Asta responds sharply, narrowing his eyes at the tall asshole. “I mean, you can’t handle everything on your own, can you?”

Yuno mimics the actions of Asta’s eyes, nearly boring a hole through the shorter with his stare alone. “That won’t be needed.”

“No, no. I insist.”

Secré’s eyes flick between the two boys, annoyance flaring within her, if the aggravated sigh that escapes her lips is anything to go by. “Quit this pathetic attempt at flirting, it’s not that serious. How about the three of us go to the office, alright? There, problem solved.”

“Fine,” Yuno huffs, walking away. The two adults follow, and Secré and Asta linger behind.

Mimosa gives an awkward “goodbye” before heading off, leaving Asta with Secré and his fuming thoughts. How dare Yuno catch an attitude because he can’t do everything alone? He’s not some big shot!

Wait… what did Secré say?

“Quit this pathetic attempt at flirting…”

What the hell?! Who the fuck was flirting?! Asta? Flirting with that… that… ugh! Everything in his brain starts to spiral as he attempts to wrap his head around those words. Why would Secré even say something like that? Not only does Asta dislike Yuno to the max, but he’s a boy! What business does a boy have liking another boy? How could she be so casual saying something like that!

How weird…

Whatever her deal is, Asta decides to ignore it. They all walk in silence, the soft sounds of the ocean ripples carrying through the wind. Asta finds that he’s able to calm down once he forces himself to stop worrying about trivial matters.

Everything is going to be alright.

☘︎︎

Everything is not alright.

Secré and her relatives had left Asta and Yuno standing alone in the office, as they had business to talk with a family while they waited on the dean of Clover Academy. Secré was going to stay, but her aunt insisted, saying that the family had a girl her age that she could talk to. Reluctantly, Secré obliged.

The air is tense, both of them pointedly ignoring making eye contact with each other. Asta’s never been much of an awkward guy, always easily being able to fill in silences with his rambunctious voice, or just having his presence be enough of a comfort. This is a completely different case, though.

Unable to be still any longer, Asta begins to look around the place. It’s a clean, white office with minimal decor and a hefty amount of paper piled atop the desk.

Upon further inspection, Asta’s eye catches something glistening atop the windowsill. Curiously, he stalks over to it, and realizes it’s a photograph of Secré as a little baby framed in gold. Asta gushes at the sight, completely enamored at the incredibly chubby cheeks and big, mean, scarlet eyes staring angrily at the camera. How sweet!

“This is so cute!”

“Should you be snooping around here?” Yuno asks simply, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes are shut softly, face completely lax. Like he’s trying to look cool or something. Well, it’s not working.

(Then again, if Yuno really wasn’t trying to look cool, yet Asta assumed he was anyway, then… it probably was working, wasn’t it?)

“Quit worrying about what I’m doing,” Asta scoffs, back facing the arrogant male. “Don’t you have to, I don’t know, comb your hair? Or whatever you pretty, popular boys do.”

“Stereotyping me based on my looks? Sister Lily wouldn’t take kindly to that, y’know.”

Asta freezes, caught off guard. In a single motion, he turns on his heel and points at Yuno angrily yet again. “You— I— how would you know what Sister Lily would and wouldn’t like, huh?! You’re not her favorite, so buzz off!”

“…Her favorite?”

“Don’t act dense! With your stupid cool act!”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about, moron.”

“Oh, so now we’re name calling! Fine, two can play that game. From now on, you’ll be known as… aha! Handsome jerk!” Asta smirks cockily, completely self assured.

However, Yuno simply opens an eye, one eyebrow raised. “Your insult for me consists of a compliment?”

“Gah— I— you— just shut up!”

“You’re the one yelling.”

Their bickering doesn’t let up, with Asta constantly spewing out more words at an increasing volume, and Yuno replying in that flat, bored tone that gets Asta heated, leading to a never ending cycle. It’s not until Secré sends a text to Asta asking him to grab the office phonebook from the high shelf behind the desk and bring it outside to her that their petty argument comes to a halt.

When Asta asks why, she tells him that her uncle wants to keep the family’s contact information in a more secure place than just having it digitally. Asta understands, and moves behind the white desk, reaching up towards the faint, gray shelf.

It’s a little higher than he had realized, so he stands on the tips of his toes, outstretching his arm to grab the thin book — but no luck. Goddamnit, why is it so high? 

“Snooping again?”

Asta groans, annoyed. “No. Mr. Edwin and Ms. Kina asked me to bring their phonebook, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Need a hand?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” The shorter looks over his shoulder, frowning. As if Yuno would help him. “You were just arguing with me, now you’re gonna offer help?”

Yuno merely shrugs. “Watching you struggle is pretty pathetic,” And before Asta can get angry at the quip, Yuno strides over to him, easily grabbing the paperback book and handing it to him. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t need your help,” Asta grits out, not feeling even an ounce of gratitude for the “kind” gesture. Knowing Yuno, the handsome bastard was probably just mocking him. What kind of reason is “watching you struggle is pretty pathetic,” huh? 

Asta thinks he might hate that jerk.

✤✤✤

Yuno watches as Asta walks out of the office, visibly pissed. 

In truth, Yuno never really understood all the buzz about that guy. It was freshman year when Yuno had first heard of him, with teachers constantly complaining about his annoying, disruptive nature (though they did say it never seemed to be in an attempt to actually disrupt anyone), or sighing heavily upon seeing his scores.

Despite his qualities, for some reason, he seemed to be pretty popular. Just about everyone knew about him, and he had a relatively large friend group. The fact that he’s the quarterback of the football team makes it feel like some kind of American high school cliché. Star of the team is incredibly popular, always in trouble, and lacks any brain cells. He’s like the stereotypical jock come to life.

None of that really bothered Yuno at first — he couldn’t find it in him to care. Yuno was popular, but for the opposite reasons. For one, his incredibly good looks. Asta isn’t ugly, Yuno will give him that, but those stupidly big eyes and spiky hair have got nothing on Yuno’s wind-blown, raven locks and eyes as gold as the burning sun. Not to mention his slim, matured face structure as opposed to Asta’s more childish, round one.

Yuno was an amazing student, always achieving high scores on whatever he did, and he never got in trouble. Plus, he’s also pretty athletic, being a member of the tennis team and hitting the gym whenever he found the time.

So, really, why would he care about Asta?

Well, he and Sister Lily had been talking in the nurse’s office one day, and she had mentioned Asta’s name. Yuno was a bit surprised to know that she knew him on a closer level, and was curious to know how. Apparently, she also babysat him while she was a nun. She seemed to care for him a lot, and had a lot to say about their time together.

It was when she mentioned the constant marriage proposals that Yuno grew a bit more wary. To hear that some kid asked her out every day that he saw her for the past decade really ticked him off. Yuno cared a lot for Sister Lily, and that must have gotten really uncomfortable. Even though Sister Lily said she never felt “uncomfortable” about it, but rather annoyed, Yuno still didn’t like it.

Ever since he learned about that, he planned to approach Asta and mention it himself, but their paths had never crossed, strangely enough. 

It wasn’t until recently that he finally got to see Asta face to face, and he was able to address his disdain in his own fashion. Yuno was particularly good at getting under people’s skin without putting much effort, and so that’s exactly what he did — and it worked.

It’s clear that he has some sort of strange infatuation with Sister Lily, and Yuno knows that if he tells Asta to stop, it’ll probably lead to him trying to punch Yuno’s teeth in… again. Not like Yuno couldn’t take on that brute, but he’d rather not go through the hassle — so he figures that if Asta wants to live out his weird fantasy, hoping that one day Sister Lily will accept his futile confessions, then so be it. As long as it never escalates.

☘︎︎ | ✤✤✤

Asta and Secré walk along the dock alone, as everyone else is in the office worrying about the paperwork, costs, and whatever else. As they tread along, Asta spills out all his hatred for Yuno, with Secré listening and supplying occasional eye-rolls, nods, and scoffs.

“And then he tells me that watching me struggle is pathetic, and gets the book for me. I mean, what kind of asshole does that?!”

“A nice one? I mean, he did help you.”

“Secré, are you even listening? He was mocking me! That tall bastard! One day, I’m going to grow even taller than him, and then he’ll be the one getting made fun of! Haha!”

Secré deadpans. “Right… y’know, maybe we should do something to calm you down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get under your skin as easily as this guy does.”

Asta sighs softly. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t remember the last time I was this mad at someone. What did you have in mind?”

The petite girl turns around, facing the beach that the dock extended from. As she gazes at the sand that shimmered like tiny crystals beneath the daylight, an idea pops into her head. Looking over her shoulder, she manages a tiny smile. Asta raises a brow at this.

“We’ll need sand buckets and shovels.”

☘︎︎

Asta stands in front of his sandcastle, two hands placed snugly on his hips and his grins proudly at the display. The wet sand shaped into a large, medieval styled castle took him at least half an hour, but it did not disappoint. And, to mark it as his officially, he took his headband off and placed it around the centerpiece of the castle, like a sash. 

Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Asta announces that he’s finished. Secré tells him she’ll need more time, and Asta understands, but still throws a playful insult her way, assured that he’s going to win.

See — Secré had suggested for them to have a sandcastle building competition. Something so childish seemed out of character for her, but Asta realized it was something he’d like, and that’s what she was going for.

The rules were simple; they couldn’t look at each other’s sandcastles until time was up, and they had an hour. Whoever made the best sandcastle would be declared the winner, and they’d get to dump a bucket of freezing cold ocean water onto the loser’s head. That was really not Secré’s definition of fun, so he appreciated that she would endure something so stupid for him.

As Asta sits facing away from Secré and her creation (that was totally not as good as Asta’s, by the way!), he props himself onto his elbows, staring out into the distance. The beach stretches on for quite some time, until there is a clear line between the land and the sky. Glancing up, white clouds sit prettily among the sky, a soft, blue hue. Now lost in his head, he begins to ponder his first two weeks of school.

For some reason, he can’t help but feel like a storm is coming, even despite the clear sky reflecting in his eyes. Nothing has really been different this year compared to last year, or his middle school years — but when he mulls over the small events that have taken place so far; his talk with Licita, developing a sense of hatred for someone for the first time in a long time, and having a nagging confusion as to what that silver-haired girl’s problem is — he can’t help but feel like this is only the slight wind of what will be a tornado, or the subtle wave of what’s soon to become a tsunami.

“Finished.”

Secré’s voice breaks him out of his stupor, and he stands on his bare feet and dusts off the back of his pants, deciding to ignore that odd feeling of anticipation in his chest. It’s probably nothing.

Now that they’re both standing, facing their own sandcastles, they give a quick countdown before looking at the other’s creation. On three, they turn their heads, and—

“Is that a life size replica of me?!”

Secré nods, glaring unimpressed at Asta’s castle, which paled in comparison to the eerily accurate construction of Asta in sand form. “And your’s is… a regular castle. Wow. I mean, it’s not bad, but…”

Asta stalks over to the replica, running a finger along the grainy spikes of hair. Every single grain seemed to be meticulously placed, from the outlier strand of ashen hair that stuck up, to the soles of the shoes. The freakiest part was that it was Asta’s exact height, so he was eye to eye with the thing. The eyes on it were just as huge as his.

“How did you even do this?” Asta asks, poking the forehead. The wet sand dents a little.

“I’ve always been pretty good at crafty stuff.”

“I mean, yeah, I know that, but this goes a bit beyond being just good.”

In a nonchalant manner, Secré shrugs, dusting off Sand-Asta’s cheek. “It’s whatever. However, based on your reaction, it’s clear that I’m the winner. So, as agreed, I’m going to fill my bucket with ice cold water.”

Oh, right. That part.

“It’s not like I can’t handle a little cold water,” Asta declares with false confidence, beginning to ramble in hopes of psyching himself up. “After all, I’ve endured brutal tackles in football, your painful pinches to my delicate skin, and Coach Yami’s painful head squeezes. Now that I think about it, I wonder why he only does that to me. I mean, seriously, pick on someone else for a change! My head’s gonna be half the size it is now if— ACK! Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold!”

Water cold as the arctic soaks into his skin, dripping down his ash hair, the spikes flattened against his head. Small droplets from his ends stream down his face, and his clothes stick to his body in a way that gives him the ick. His teeth chatter as he wraps his arms around each other in a meaningless attempt to preserve heat. Eyes the shade of the forest glare at Secré, eyebrows furrowed.

“Jeez, give a guy some warning first!” Asta proclaims angrily, though he can barely see through the hair hanging over his eyes.

“Oops,” Secré mutters insincerely with a tiny, cocky grin.

“How am I going to get home? I can’t get in any vehicle while I’m drenched like this, and I’ll freeze to death if I walk all the way there!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you accepted the terms of the challenge.”

Asta sighs. “True.”

“I’m just messing with you,” Secré nudges him lightly. “The mansion isn’t that far from here. You should have some clothes over there. Though… you’ll still be freezing until we get there. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal,” Asta’s bright grin returns, the corners of his eyes crinkling the slightest bit. “As I said, I’ve endured much worse.” 

Secré rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. Once they pour the grainy sand from their shoes, they slip them on and head up, back to the concrete sidewalk and paven street. 

Chapter Text

act v

“Acceptance”

It’s early Thursday, and the school is operating as it typically does. The bell hasn’t rung yet, so, as they usually do, Asta and Secré roam the halls. Secré pays half-attention to whatever Asta is talking about, as she’s more worried as to why he’s become so irritable lately.

Knowing him since middle school, it was easy for her to decipher how he felt and why he felt that way. That’s why she was so confused at the moment.

Yuno seemed like an asshole, sure, that much she could gauge. From what Secré’s heard and seen, he seemed like the type to deliberately get under your skin, but he did it in a way that wasn’t outright obnoxious, so when you called it out, he could play it off and make it seem like you’re over exaggerating.

Even so, though, Asta’s encountered many jackasses in his lifetime, and while he’s gotten irritated, none of them have ever had him as upset as Yuno did. 

As she tries to pull any possible reason from her mind, a soft, airy voice pulls her from her thoughts. It’s then that she realizes that Asta had stopped talking, and is now waving over the person who had just spoken.

Neatly brushed, pale blond hair and crystal-like aquatic eyes come into Secré’s view, and her posture goes rigid for a split second before it becomes lax once again. Blush threatens to creep on her face, but she manages to will it away, if only for a moment. If Asta notices, she might never live it down.

“Lumiere! Haven’t seen you in a while!” Asta exclaims, then, subtly, he nudges Secré, shooting her a strange look. “Isn’t that right, Secré?”

Secré glares, knowing what he’s getting at. It’s just as she’s about to make a retort, that Lumiere looks her way, his eyes brightening and smile becoming soft, yet enthusiastic. That blush that she had temporarily stored away blooms fully upon her cheeks. She chooses to ignore Asta’s knowing smirk. Seriously, isn’t he supposed to be completely clueless about this kind of stuff?!

“Secré! It has been a while. When was the last time we saw each other? The first day of school, wasn’t it?” Lumiere says, chipper. Just as always.

“Yes, it was,” She responds smoothly, in hopes of not letting him notice her current predicament. “I guess our schedules are too different for us to cross paths, unless we’re both roaming about early in the morning.”

“Yes, that would seem to be the case,” Says the blond. “Ah, I heard you guys are the reason we’re getting to go on a cruise for this year’s prom. With Asta convincing Damnatio, and Secré’s family owning the cruise line itself! Impressive stuff, you guys!”

Bashful from the praise, Secré trails her sharp gaze to the polished ground, scratching her wrist. “Well, it’s not like I did anything, really. My family just happened to own a huge business. Nothing to get excited about.”

Lumiere chuckles heartily, bringing a smooth, flawless hand to her shoulder. “Ah, but see, that’s where you’re wrong! If it weren’t for your connections, Clover Academy wouldn’t have gotten a five percent discount!”

Asta and Secré exchange a glance, their confusion obviously mutual. It’s Asta who speaks up. “I don’t remember us getting a discount…?”

“Ah, you don’t? You must not have been there while prices were being discussed. No matter, it was still a huge feat.”

“Five percent doesn’t sound that good. I mean, the cost I heard was twenty million yul, and that was for one cruise. So for two, it would be… ah… um…?” Asta’s expression goes blank, his right hand raising in front of his face as he tries to count on his fingers. “One, two…”

“Forty million, Asta,” Secré deadpans.

Asta lowers his hand, grinning. “Yeah, forty million! I was getting there! Anyway, five percent off of that would be… uh— wait, let me think—”

“Thirty-eight million, Asta,” Her reply is quick, just as the last. “However, I don’t expect you to know that off the bat, so I’ll give you a pass on that one.”

“Well, anyway, thirty-eight million is basically forty million. I mean, if you were to round it, it’d basically be forty million.”

“I’m surprised you knew that.”

Asta glares at her. “Oh, would you cut me some slack? I’m not completely braindead.”

“Debatable.”

“Hey!”

Lumiere laughs, the sound pleasant. Asta and Secré direct their attention to him, watching with quizzical faces as he swipes a small tear from his eye. “S-Sorry, you two are hilarious!” Regaining his composure, he clears his throat into his fist, before a small smile graces his lips. “Anyway, a two million yul discount is nothing to scoff about. Though its amount may pale in comparison to a whopping thirty-eight million, think about it like this — that’s two million more yul that could be used for other school needs! Had we’d paid the full price, we’d be two-million short on extra cash.”

Asta hums thoughtfully. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess it makes sense!”

“Speaking of prom — Secré, there’s something I want to show you in the lab. It’s this invention I’ve been working on, and I’d like your thoughts on it. If you’re not busy right now, would you like to come see?”

Caught off guard by the sudden proposal, she blinks at the taller boy, failing to provide a verbal response. Asta pokes her in the side, just beneath her ribcage. That breaks her out of her stupor, and she finally manages to nod.

“Sure,” She says.

“Amazing!” Lumiere smiles brightly. Then, his eyes flicker over to Asta, and he quickly speaks again. “Oh, how rude of me! Asta, would you like to come, too?”

Instead of taking offense, Asta just shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, I’d probably accidentally spill some chemicals or something,” He laughs sheepishly. “Plus, I’m not really big on, like, inventions and stuff. That’s you and Secré’s thing. You guys should have fun together! I’ll catch you later!”

Asta throws a wink Secré’s way before heading off alone, leaving her with Lumiere. Whether she was thankful or annoyed, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter once she and Lumiere began heading to the school laboratory.

Walking up the spiral steps to the second floor, they enter the incredibly large room. The walls are unnaturally white, so much so that a speck of dust could be detected on the smooth surface. Instead of mimicking the marble pattern throughout the rest of the school, the laboratory floor matched its walls, so that spills and whatnot would be incredibly visible.

The lab is an elongated room, with rows and rows of smooth, long, pale desks that stretched on until the very front of the room, where the front desk stood. Unlike the others, the front desk was mahogany, and had various scientific equipment and experimental liquids resting atop it. On the wall behind it was a chalkboard, with multiple scientific posters hung up around it.

Rather than showy chandeliers that hung throughout the halls of the school, and in some offices, the lab ceiling wore simple, recessed lighting. At the back of the classroom is a walk-in closet with mechanical, white doors that held many lab coats, goggles, and other wear for students.

Equipment and chemicals could be found on high up shelves, or down in drawers built into the wood beneath the desks and counters around the room, which were protected by high-tech, small tablets built into the drawers that required a pin in order for the drawers to unlock. The pin automatically changed every period using time-based mechanics. 

Secré sits on a tall stool at one of the desks, idly checking her short, almond-shaped nails as Lumiere squats in front of a locked drawer beneath the counter against the wall, inputting a code on the small device embedded. A small click is heard, and Lumiere opens the drawer, pulling out something shiny and round.

Curiously, Secré watches as he rises to his feet, hauling the huge sphere over to their desk before setting it down, hands hovering around it for a few seconds, most likely to make sure that it wouldn’t roll. Once it steadies, Lumiere moves his hands away, allowing Secré to see the full thing.

“A… disco ball?”

Lumiere nods, retrieving a small remote control from his pocket. “Not just any disco ball, though! It can play music with bluetooth, and float all on its own. It took me a while to figure out the physics to tinker with — and by a while, I mean over ten months — but I finally got it!” He explains enthusiastically. “The bluetooth aspect took a few months, too, but it was fairly easy once I understood it. Don’t you think this’ll be incredibly great for the prom dance?”

Secré lets out a small laugh, a bit humored at such a silly concept. Usually, Lumiere was keen on inventing things that bettered society, bringing people together or helping individuals prosper in their educational endeavors. A disco ball seemed way out of the park for a genius such as Lumiere — especially because it was for something as superficial as prom.

That said, he did spend months perfecting it, learning how to basically defy physics. Maybe this project was merely means to a scientific breakthrough of sorts. It definitely piqued Secré’s interest, even if the concept was a little odd.

“It’s not my brand, huh?” Lumiere says, huffing out a short chuckle.

“Well, not exactly,” Secré responds truthfully, ruby eyes flicking between Lumiere and the disco ball sitting on the table. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t interesting. Sorry for laughing — I was just a little surprised.”

Lumiere smiles handsomely. “No worries, it didn’t bother me at all! Here, let me show you how it works.”

Secré nods, watching intently as Lumiere explains the mechanics. The remote he held had only two buttons — a blue one at the top, and a green one beneath it. The standard bluetooth symbol was engraved onto the blue button, while a wing was on the green one. Lumiere pressed the blue button, and then pulled his cellphone from his pocket, taking a few seconds to connect it to the disco ball.

After the connection was complete, he opened a playlist on his music app, and chose a song that Secré was not familiar with. It was classical — that, she could tell. The slow tempo and romantic melody were quite nice, actually. Though Secré was more of an alternative, punk/rock kind of girl, she could find herself humming along to this tune.

Then, Lumiere pressed the green button, and the disco ball began levitating off of the desk, hovering just centimeters above the smooth surface. It was then that Secré realized there were two much smaller buttons, just on the side of the remote. Lumiere clicked the one on top, and the disco began to soar higher and higher, only coming to a standstill once Lumiere removed his finger from the button.

The pride and joy that completely washed across Lumiere’s face as he watched his own invention work made Secré’s heart skip a beat, her skin becoming warm as he marveled at his work.

“Well? What did you think?”

Secré smiles softly, hoping that the red hue on her cheeks isn’t noticeable. “I think it’s amazing. You’ve once again proven to be an incredible inventor. If you show this off, along with your other projects, you’ll have no problem getting into Clover University.”

Clover University is the most prestigious college in the entire country, its campus twice the size of Clover Academy. Those who attended the academy typically used that route to get into the university, as it was directly run by Julius Novachrono’s brother, Augustus Kira Clover III.

Though Clover Academy’s enrollment was based on pure luck, Clover University was incredibly strict with its picks. Only the best of the best were even considered, and even then, they had to pick very few from that pool of especially gifted individuals in order to get in.

Secré had always assumed Lumiere was aiming for Clover University. With the private classes he took within the school, and all he’s accomplished in his four years of attending, it would be child’s play for him to get in. He’d be following in Julius’s steps, shining just as the man did as he carved a path towards a better society. It was Lumiere’s drive that made Secré feel so warm around him, that made her look up to him, that made them click so well as friends.

Lumiere had a beautiful light that glowed when he was in his element, and though Secré wasn’t sure if she’d be fond of him at first, it wasn’t long before they managed to connect and become incredibly close friends. With their shared passion for science and creating, they soon found that they meshed well together.

Instead of brightening up at the mention of the university, Lumiere simply glances down at the empty desk, the grip around his remote control tightening as a saddened, almost distant smile adorns his very pretty face. Secré’s eyebrows knit together, her lips pulling into a confused frown. 

“I’m actually planning on using it to get into Raquey University,” He tells her, his voice barely a whisper. Her eyes widen a bit, in a way that would be unnoticeable to most. “Clover University was never the plan.”

“Really?” Is all she manages to say.

Lumiere nods, looking up at her with his oceanic eyes. “You’re actually the first person I’ve told,” He chuckles, though it lacks any true mirth. The sound is hollow, almost a scoff. “Even though I made that decision as early as sophomore year, I didn’t have the guts to tell my dad — or anyone, for that matter. People have always compared me to him, saying I’d follow his trail — but I don’t want to do that. I’m my own person, and there are things I want to do without his influence. So I haven’t told anyone.”

Secré feels a sense of guilt crawl rabidly in the pits of her stomach, realizing that the assumption she had made was built upon the exact idea that Lumiere was working against.

Thinking about it, she should’ve known that Lumiere would blaze his own trail. Raquey University had an amazing engineering program, which he had expressed he’d be majoring in — though anyone who knew of him would have been able to guess that. Lumiere had a spark that couldn’t be tamed, ambitions that soared high. Of course he wouldn’t settle to piggyback on his father’s dreams.

“It was dumb of me to assume. I’m sorry,” She says quietly, tugging at a loose thread on her uniform skirt.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself! It’s not your fault!” Lumiere insists, frantically waving his hands around. “I never really spoke up and said anything, so I can’t be upset at you for coming to that conclusion. I’m just glad I got to tell someone — and it makes me happier knowing that it was you, of all people,” A beautiful smile graces his lips, slight blush dusting his fair skin, and Secré thinks she might just faint and die.

…It makes me happier knowing that it was you, of all people. 

How is she supposed to take that? Was he blushing at her? Why was his smile so gorgeous? Too many thoughts overrode her mind. It was weird — she was typically the level-headed one, always keeping her brain in order. Lumiere somehow managed to completely bypass that, leaving her brain scrambled and her heart leaping. 

Subconsciously, she raises a hand over her chest, feeling its beat follow an erratic rhythm. She has to calm down, she probably looks so stupid right now!

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll have no problem getting into Raquey. You’re amazing,” Secré ends up saying, her voice sincere, even if there was a hint of embarrassment in her tone. 

Lumiere grins. “That’s worth a lot to me. Thank you, Secré.”

She offers a tiny smile in return.

☘︎︎

Lying in bed that same night, Secré reflects thoughtfully upon the events earlier in the day, where Lumiere had made that stunning admission.

Rolling onto her left side, scarlet eyes catch sight of the clear, night sky beyond her large window. Secré brushes her dark hair from her field of vision with her index finger, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. The tips of her ears are warm with blush, her mind continuously replaying Lumiere’s heartfelt words and handsome looks.

Maybe she had been avoiding the truth all her life, maneuvering around her honest feelings through constant excuses because the concept was too foreign to her, too odd, and just downright embarrassing. But was it finally time to give into her heart?

The way it thrummed heavily against the confines of her chest whenever Lumiere would smile at her, the way it leaped each time he spoke in his soft tone, his words perfectly articulated, sentences formal and proper.

The glint of a purely white star catches her eye. As though it had some sort of magnetic pull, Secré finds herself pulling her dark-colored duvet off of her, pressing her palms into the mattress as she sat up. Now upright, she gets a better view of the star, realizing that it’s moving through the sky, a white streak ripping through the navy canvas.

A shooting star.

Lumiere loves wishing on shooting stars. Secré always found the notion to be a bit childish, but she never vocalized that thought. 

Seeing it now, it almost feels like the universe is listening to her inner monologue, sending her a symbol of some sort. Secré knows it’s a stupid and sappy, and the part of her brain still functioning on logic is telling her to calm down, to take some steps back and reevaluate whether or not these feelings are worth acknowledging — but she’s been listening to that part for years.

If she just takes the bait, listening to the shooting star slicing through the sky, then she can come to terms with her feelings. Acknowledging them for what they are, not bothering to rationalize with herself.

Glancing up once more, she realizes the star is gone, zipping across some other region in the sky.

That nauseating feeling of doubt and fear settles nastily into her stomach, her gaze raising to her high ceiling. 

Was accepting these feelings really okay? If she were to accept them, it wouldn’t be long before she had to address them — and could she really bring herself to do something so brazen? The bond she shared with Lumiere was too precious to throw away, she wouldn’t be able to come to terms with that, especially knowing it was because she couldn’t quell the aching in her heart.

How would she know if he even felt the same? She stumbles backwards, away from the window, plopping down on the edge of her bed as her legs swing anxiously, her hands scratching at her forearms as she brings her sights back to the empty sky outside her window. Irises the shade of blood dart between each tiny star dotting the night. This was beginning to make her anxious. Finally coming to terms with it was just… overwhelming.

How did Asta shamelessly profess an emotion such as love so effortlessly, while Secré could barely accept that she liked Lumiere?

Wait a minute… Asta! Of course! He’d know what to do! As oblivious as he may be about the topic of love on the grand scale, he was capable enough to understand that Secré was nervous about a long-time crush, and would be able to pep-talk her into calming herself down and readying herself to take the next step — whatever that may be.

Swiping her cellphone up from beside her resting on a pillow, she unlocks it quickly, and calls him. The robotic tone that plays as the call goes through stretches on, and Secré begins to accept that he won’t answer — until the faint sound of background noise picks up.

“Secré? Hey! What’s up? You never call me!”

“I need help,” She states, hating how desperate it comes out despite her attempt at keeping her tone flat.

“What? Where are you? Are you alright?” Asta asks frantically, voice thick with worry.

“No, no, calm down — it’s nothing, y’know, crazy. It’s just embarrassing. If it’s no trouble, could you come to my house?”

It goes silent for a moment, naught but the sound of the wind hanging in the air. Secré opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of laughter interrupts her train of thought. A thin eyebrow raises, her lips pulling into an even deeper frown. What was so funny?

“Secré, you live hours away from me, and on extremely private land, remember? The only way I can get over there is by your personal driver,” Asta explains, and, damn, does she feel like an idiot. How did she forget that? “Considering that you felt the need to call me, and you forgot about that, something must be really wrong. Is it something you can tell me over the phone?”

Secré mulls it over for a moment, but eventually shakes her head, regardless of the fact that Asta can’t see her. “I’d really rather talk about it in person. Are you busy? I’ll tell Alfred to come get you if you’re not.”

“I’m not busy, you can send him over. Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“I’m fine, just… confused. We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

“Alright. See you soon!”

As she hangs up, a harsh sigh pulls from her lips. This would be such an embarrassing conversation to have, but if she holds it in, she’ll end up driving herself crazy.

☘︎︎

Asta and Secré end up settling in the massive kitchen, sitting at the island. Asta munches on a Snickers bar, spinning around on the tall, leather stool as Secré attempts to gather all of her thoughts amidst the silence. After a moment, she manages to find the words she had struggled to conjure up for a solid five minutes.

“I think I like Lumiere.”

A heavy weight that she had not known was resting on her shoulders suddenly lifts, her body becoming placid as she awaits Asta’s response. The ash-colored haired boy doesn’t seem to have any major reaction to this, though, which puzzles Secré.

Asta may have figured out that Secré had some sort of feelings for Lumiere already, so it makes sense he’s not necessarily surprised, but being that she rarely spoke about feelings like this outright, she’d expect him to be a bit more responsive to her confession. He’s not, though. He just waits, taking another bite of the caramel-chocolate combination in his hand, eyes staring right at her blankly, like she was discussing the weather or something.

After a brief silence, Asta merely cocks in head to the side in typical “Confused-Asta” fashion.

“That’s what you were freaking out about?”

“Huh?”

A small chuckle escapes the boy. “Well, I’m glad you finally came to terms with it. Now all that’s left to do is confess!”

“That’s easier said than done. Not all of us are brainless idiots, y’know.”

Asta waves his hand in a dismissive motion, taking no offense to the jab. “You don’t have to be an idiot to confess. It’s all about confidence. As you’ve just demonstrated, you already had the courage to admit your feelings to me. Now, do the same thing, but to the boy you actually like.”

Secré should have known his advice would be useless. Asta was too much of a straight-forward thinker, he never really stopped to think about the bigger picture. Well — he never really stopped to think at all, but anyway.

Oddly enough, in this very moment, Secré wishes she could hone that mindset, even if just for a day. It made things so simple for Asta, and if she could just think like that rather than overanalyzing every single detail in order to not make a fool of herself, then maybe she wouldn’t struggle so much with trivial things such as this.

“It’s not that simple,” She tells him in earnest, her head hanging low, eyes stuck on the sleek, black finish of the island. “I’m not like that. I can’t just build up courage from out of nowhere like you can,” Her hands curl into fists, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I wish I could. I’ve been harboring these feelings since I was little. Now that I’ve finally acknowledged them, I don’t know what to do, and it sucks.”

Very rarely did Secré ever get like this — emotional and raw, letting the monotone facade fall flat for once.

Maybe “facade” was too strong a word. It wasn’t as though she were playing some act. The dull, mean-ish personality was the result of her parents, and it was a true part of her. It was moreso a shell than a facade. A part of her that everyone saw, but only few could crack it open, revealing her more vulnerable side.

It isn’t until she feels rough fingers thread through the top of her scalp that she looks up, taking sight of Asta’s empathetic expression as he ruffles her raven locks softly.

“You know… I might not understand where you’re coming from, but that doesn’t mean my words aren’t worth listening to,” Asta tells her, his lips curving into a smile.

Secré blinks, immediately recalling where those words had originally come from. Her. The look in her eyes turns to one of disbelief, and she finds herself cracking a small smile.

“Did you seriously just use my own words against me?”

Asta’s smile stretches into a full on grin, his white teeth on display. “Uh-huh! And now look at you — you’re smiling!” Retracting his hand from her hair, he laughs brightly.

And, for some reason, she begins to laugh, too. “You’re so corny,” Secré says between chuckles, cheeks beginning to hurt from how hard she’s smiling.

They stay like that for a good while, the once tense atmosphere now dissolved to naught but the past, their synchronized laughter echoing throughout the colossal kitchen. It felt so nice to be like this, having someone to enjoy sharing her company with, without the complication of romantic feelings. It just felt so simple, so stress-free.

When their giggling comes down to a simmer, Asta stands from the leather stool. Ruby eyes track his movements, confusion prevalent within them. 

“If you’re really not ready to take the next step, that’s fine,” Asta tells her. “Until then, let’s just do something to take your mind off of it,” He surveys the area, clearly in hopes of finding something that could pass the time. After a moment, the viridian of his eyes lights up upon seeing the glass bowl of various fruits sitting atop the black counter, silver marbled throughout the surface. “Aha! Let’s make something using those fruits!”

Secré raises a brow. “Make something…?”

Asta nods. “Yeah! Ooh, I’ve got it! Since neither of us know how to bake, let’s make a pie! So, what’re you thinking? Apple? Banana? Ooh, ever heard of orange pie?”

“Okay, first of all, gross. Secondly, why would you want to attempt something if you know we can’t do it?

“That’s what makes it fun! The challenge,” Asta grins cheekily. “Plus, it’ll take your mind off things for a while.”

The smile on her lips is hard to hide.

☘︎︎

Onyx countertops are coated in all kinds of ingredients — eggs, flour, sugar, and more. Sticky dough somehow finds its way onto the smooth walls, and mashed fruit is sprawled all across the floor.

With an excited grin, Asta pops open the oven, pulling out a very… questionable looking pie. The crust was lumpy and bordering on burnt, with bubbling filling oozing from the small slits made in the crust. Secré watches with a grimace as Asta sets the dish on the island, seemingly not phased by the rather lackluster presentation. 

“It looks inedible,” Secré says in a deadpan.

“Haven’t you heard the phrase “looks don’t matter,” Secré? Plus, the worse something looks, the better it tastes. In most cases, anyway.”

Secré rolls her eyes, strolling over to the dark gray, wooden knife block on the counter, beside the sink. After taking one, she opens a high cabinet, taking two glass plates and two metal forks. Returning to the island with those items in hand, Secré places them down and watches as Asta uses one of the forks to poke at the dessert.

“It’s too hot and gooey. Let’s wait for a few minutes,” He suggests.

So they wait, watching as the steam rises from the small slits in the crust. Once the faint gray smoke completely dissipates, Secré cuts into the cherry pie with the knife, plating one slice for each of them. It smells good, so that’s a good sign, at least.

They pick up their forks and take off a good portion of the pie, sharing a nervous glance before taking a tentative bite.

They both gag.

After spitting out the monstrosity of a dessert, they turn to face each other with a deep frown, the horrific taste still dancing along their taste buds.

“We really can’t bake, huh?” Asta says with a slight chuckle after a while.

“Nope,” Secré agrees simply. “But it was fun,” She admits. “It… reminded me of when Lumiere and I would mess up on inventions, even though the idea we had in our head was so perfect. Sometimes, it just didn’t turn out how we liked. I always got upset, but he would just laugh and say it was a learning experience, and not everything was meant to work out. That’s just life.”

So caught up in her ramble, she doesn’t even realize she had just brought up Lumiere randomly until the silence afterwards catches up to her. A brilliant red blooms across her face, and she turns away from Asta to avoid seeing his reaction.

“Think you want to give it a try now?” Asta asks, and Secré knows exactly what he means.

Looking up slowly, she manages a small nod.

“But still… I don’t know how to go about it. I can’t just declare my feelings out loud like you can.”

Asta hums, glancing up as though he were lost in thought for a moment. After a few seconds of what appeared to be thinking (surprisingly), Asta grins brightly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you out!”

“…We’ll?”

“If you don’t mind me telling them, I mean. Our friends. With all of us working together, you and Lumiere will get together in no time!”

At the idea of her and Lumiere being a… thing, she blushes, but decides to let things take its course and accept Asta’s help.

☘︎︎ | ✤✤✤

Vanessa had squealed when she heard the news yesterday.

Hearing that Secré, the token “emotionally constipated” one of the group, wanted to confess to her childhood crush was incredibly exciting. She could barely contain herself, and was able to conjure up a plan within the first two minutes of her phone call with Asta.

It’s Friday, and there are about five minutes of class before school is officially over. Her skin practically itches with anticipation as she bounces her leg, sick of sitting still for the past forty minutes. She needs to find Lumiere, so that she can coax him into discussing his true feelings about the raven-haired girl. That way, she can bait him into setting up a date with the girl.

As her violet, almond-shaped eyes track the hands of the analogue clock, she feels the scrutinizing gaze of the boy next to her.

“What, Magna?” Vanessa asks, not sparing him a glance.

“You seem really worked up,” Magna says, sounding somewhat concerned.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “Well, this is a big moment for our girl. Getting these two together will literally be the cutest thing ever!” Eventually, she glances over at him, glossy lips stretching into a small smile. “You know, after we set her up, you’re next.”

Magna blinks, taking a moment to digest her words before frowning. “What are you talking about, you damn alcoholic? I’m not into that romance crap.”

“But you’re into Luck.”

Lavender eyes go wide, his face becoming a burning crimson color. Vanessa hides her giggling behind her freshly manicured hand.

“I— what— I’m not— you— what the fuck are you talking about?!” Magna sputters.

“Vanessa, Magna — one more word and it’s detention for both of you after school,” Their government teacher says sharply.

Neither of them say anything else. Vanessa rests her cheek in her palm, waiting for the bell to ring. Three minutes left.

It goes by slowly, with their teacher droning on and on about projects being due next week and test scores being released. It’s literally the first of October, school just started less than a month ago. Vanessa suppresses a groan of annoyance.

Eventually, the bell rings. She and Magna get up quickly, stuffing their textbooks into their bags before strolling out the door. 

“You remember what the plan was, right?” Vanessa asks as they walk through the hallway.

Magna nods. “Yes, you told us, like, a billion times. Me, Luck, and Finral are going to take Secré shopping for clothes while you coax Lumiere into asking Secré out on a picnic date. Charmy and Asta are in charge of cooking for the picnic.”

“Good. So I’ll catch you later then,” The pink-haired girl smiles.

“Uh-huh, see ya.”

They part ways, with Vanessa deciding to look for Lumiere in the laboratory, where he seemed to be a majority of the time when classes weren’t in session.

When she gets there, it seems her intuition was correct. She notices the blond, pretty boy working on something at one of the long desks. Enthusiastic, she walks up to him. Lumiere doesn’t seem to notice her at first, too immersed in his creation. A friendly grin graces her face as she begins to address him.

“Hey, there. Lumiere, right?”

Lumiere slightly jolts before looking up, crystal-like eyes a bit wide in surprise. “Ah! Yes, that’s me. Sorry, you kind of startled me there!” He scratches the back of his head, chuckling slightly. “And you’re Vanessa?”

“That’s me,” She says. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Do you have a minute?”

The blond offers a kind smile. “Of course! What’s up?”

Vanessa rests on the stool next to Lumiere. “I just want to know… how do you feel about Secré?”

Lumiere blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. He glances up, running a hand through his wavy, shiny hair. “How I… feel? I mean, Secré’s an amazing girl! We’ve known each other for so long, and I’m really grateful to have her as a friend. She’s incredibly smart, and super supportive. We used to hang out daily, but as we grew older, our schedules have kind of stopped intermingling. I wish we had the time to hang out more together — I really miss when we spent all our time together,” His voice trails off into something quiet, almost melancholic. Cerulean eyes look downward, his eyebrows turning upwards with sadness.

Perfect.

“Well, Secré’s free tomorrow. If you can make some time in your schedule for her, I have the perfect idea of how you both can spend your day.”

With expectant eyes, Lumiere looks back up at her. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this beautiful park near the school. I notice that there’s a spot by the lake that typically isn’t being used. Perfect spot for a picnic,” Vanessa says. “It’ll be very nice for you and her. A nice, cool day in the park with delicious food — which, by the way, our friends will get made for you. Sounds romantic, huh?” She smirks.

“R-Romantic? Well, ah, I mean, it does sound nice, but—”

“Relax, I’m just kidding about the romance part!” She laughs. “Seriously, though, it would be a perfect way to spend your Saturday. All you’ve got to do is ask her.”

Consideration dwells behind his eyes for a while, a light pink spreading across the fair skin of his cheeks. After a while, Lumiere smiles and nods.

“Alright. I’ll ask her today.”

“Great! Let me show you the spot in the park.”

“Now?”

“Better sooner than later!”

✤✤✤

Charmy’s apartment is pretty nice. It’s small, but in a comfortable and cozy way, rather than just straight-up suffocating. There’s a lot of fluffy decor, like stuffed animals and rugs.

Charmy leads Asta to her kitchen, which is a great size, which makes sense considering Charmy’s love for cooking.

Asta and Charmy decided to make the food together, as they were the best cooks in the group. Most people wouldn’t believe it, but Asta was actually an amazing cook thanks to Sister Lily. Back when she babysat him, she would sometimes cook dinner, even when the selection in the refrigerator was sparse due to money being tight. Every time, Asta would stand on the tips of his toes and watch her with sparkles in his eyes, enamored at her raw talent. Sister Lily would smile and allow him to help her out by pouring stuff in the bowl, or stirring some random mixture.

As he grew older, Sister Lily began to trust him more, and gave him a bigger role in the cooking. Asta would happily oblige with her requests, and by the time he was ten, he was a pretty good chef for his age.

On his thirteenth birthday, the only day of the year that Licita willingly takes off, he wanted to impress her by cooking her favorite dish — fish. Sister Lily was kind enough to use what little money she had to purchase a whiting. Asta knew he couldn’t put her money to waste by ruining it, so he was incredibly meticulous with his cooking, Sister Lily’s advice running through his head the entire time he was in the kitchen.

Once Licita woke up, he presented it to her with a huge grin, fang showing and all. She took a seat at the couch with her plate in hand and instantly began to munch. Asta watched in anticipation as she tried the whiting. When her eyes widened and lit up, and the sleep in her body completely dissipated, he knew he had done excellent.

Back to the present, Charmy sets out a bunch of ingredients that could be compiled into dishes like salads, sandwiches, and desserts. Asta would let her handle the baking stuff. He never got good at that. It was a tad bit too meticulous for him.

“Okay, Asta — you start cooking the meat for the cheesesteak, and wash the vegetables for the salad. I’ll work on the beignets and macarons!” Charmy instructs, voice authoritative.

Asta nods. “Got it, Charmy!”

☘︎︎

Finral picks Luck, Magna, and Secré up in his nice, green sports car. Secré sits up in the passenger seat, staring at the male next to her in confusion. Finral had texted her, saying to be outside in a few minutes because they were going shopping. At first, she had declined, but Finral insisted, so here they are. Though, by the look on her face, she wants an explanation soon.

“I asked you to come with us because we thought it’d be nice for you to spend some time outside the house!” Finral exclaims, glancing over at her as he goes down a highway. “You’re so pale because you’re always in that big ass mansion. You barely see the sun.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way,” Secré grumbles, crossing her arms.

Finral turns his eyes back to the empty road, still smiling. “Too bad! You’re already here, so you’re going to enjoy it. Plus, Vanessa gave us money so that you could buy at least one nice outfit. You wouldn’t put her money to waste, would you?” He raises a brow.

“It’s not like I asked her to do that.”

“Don’t be like that, it’s good to get out of your comfort zone,” Finral insists.

“Can you get out of your comfort zone and go a little more than forty miles an hour? I’m snoozin’ over here, man,” Magna complains from the back, head sticking out the window, wind blowing his multi-colored hair astray.

“Yeah, this car ride is so lame!” Luck whines. “Let me get behind the wheel! Pull over so we can switch, Finral!”

Finral rolls his eyes. “Uh, I don’t think so, maniac. Last time I checked, you’re the one who convinced Asta to crash Magna’s motorcycle. This baby isn’t suffering the same fate.”

“I told him to drive the car, not crash it. How was I supposed to know he would screw it up?”

“How would you not know? He was fresh out of middle school.”

Magna pulls his head back into the car, glaring murderously at Luck. “I still haven’t forgiven you about that, asshole.”

Luck smiles sweetly at him, poking at his cheek. Despite the intense stare Magna is giving, he doesn’t lean away from the touch.

“I’m very sorry, Magna,” The blond says, completely insincere as he tries to stifle his giggles. “Aw, don’t pout, I mean it!”

“Yeah, sure you do,” Magna huffs.

“I do!” Luck scoots over until he and Magna are thigh-to-thigh. Magna looks down at him skeptically, like he’s expecting him to pull some stupid stunt. Luck just grins, tapping Magna’s cheek with his index finger. “How about… to prove I’m sorry, I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek!”

Blush the shade of cherries encompasses Magna’s entire face as his eyes widen. Luck completely bursts into laughter as Magna is rendered speechless, constantly tripping over his words.

“Why the hell would I want a kiss from you as an apology?!”

“I was kidding, idiot!” Luck says, still laughing. “I don’t wanna kiss you. Ew!”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” Magna claims, completely unconvincing. 

Finral sighs, readjusting his rear-view mirror so that the reflection of his two best friends flirting isn’t visible anymore. They’ve been prancing around each other for ages, and honestly, Finral thinks they should just make out to release all that pent up tension.

He wouldn’t recommend doing it in the janitor’s closet, though.

“Are they ever going to address their feelings?” Secré somewhat whispers.

“Hopefully. Vanessa and I facepalm everytime they do this. It’s so obvious they want each other,” Finral replies.

Internally, Finral considers adding on “just like you and Lumiere,” but he keeps that to himself for now. If he said anything that hinted to Secré getting with Lumiere, she’d know what they were really going shopping for, and would probably freak out and not want to go anymore. It was enough work as it is persuading her into joining them — he wouldn’t let that effort go to waste!

☘︎︎

Vanessa texts Finral the names of specific stores that she wants Finral to take Secré to, so he does.

The first store is a small, cutesy shop that seemed to advertise spring and autumn clothes. The price tags are a bit steep, but Vanessa had provided a great deal of yul, so it wasn’t anything that deterred him from encouraging Secré to choose something. Plus, if anything, Finral could always cover the cost himself. 

Ruby eyes exude a look of extreme disinterest as they scan every article of clothing in the store. Finral attempts to point out things that he thinks will look good on her, but Secré just criticizes every single piece, being sure to mention that this entire thing is a waste of time constantly.

Unfortunately, Finral begins to agree with her.

“Let’s try another store,” Finral suggests. Secré sighs annoyedly, but obliges.

The next store is much larger, with more variety in their clothes. Finral has a great feeling about this, so he tugs on Secré’s arm lightly. Secré grunts in disapproval, but makes no real attempt to resist his pull.

As they hold up some light, flowy dresses for further examination, Finral notices tufts of shaggy, blond hair sticking out from a coat rack.

“Luck, get out of there,” He calls out, voice brimming with annoyance. “You’re too old to be playing around in stores.”

Luck sticks his head from out the rack, aquatic eyes warily darting around. “Shh! You’re gonna give away my hiding spot. Magna promised me that if he didn’t find me in five minutes, he’d buy me pretzels from the stand outside! Oh — and that he’d let me punch him in the face.”

Before Finral can manage a retort, he and Luck both see Magna in their peripheral vision. In an instant, Luck is back behind the rack, completely covered by the oversized, fall coats in stock. Finral sighs, but says nothing as Magna looks around idiotically.

“I found something I want,” Secré says, catching Finral by surprise.

“Really?” The shock is prominent in his voice.

She nods, holding up a simple dress.

Finral smiles and nods in approval.

☘︎︎ | ✤✤✤

Secré settles into bed later that night, the black dress she had gotten sitting prettily in her closet. As she snuggles beneath the heavy comforter, head lying on her pillow, she wonders what all that was about.

Asta had told her that he would help Secré with her Lumiere problem, but what would buying a new outfit do? Was she supposed to dress up to impress him or something? Plus, what was Asta even doing himself to help?

Too confused and beginning to question whether she should’ve trusted his judgment or not, she grabs her other pillow and smashes it on top of her face, suppressing a frustrated groan. Why was having a crush so hard?

Trying to push those thoughts away, Secré allows her eyes to rest, mind drifting into a state of darkness.

…But her phone dings.

With slight irritation, she snatches her phone from the nightstand, pulling it from the charger. Squinting at the bright light illuminating the otherwise dark room, she realizes that it’s a text notification from Lumiere.

Her body jolts upright, hunched over as she gets a better look at the screen. With slightly clammy hands, she opens the phone, reading the message.

Lumiere •ᴗ•: Are you free tomorrow? Say, around two o’clock?

10:09 PM

She nearly screams. Was he… asking her out? Was this Asta’s plan all along? The skin on her face goes bright pink as her fingers tremble, hovering over the screen of her cellphone. What does she say? Wait, what is she talking about? Just say yes! God, why is this so difficult?

ME: Yes, I am.

10:11 PM

Lumiere •ᴗ•: Great! I’ll pick you up at around 1:30. See you then! Have a good night!

10:11 PM

ME: Good night.

10:11 PM

Secré throws her phone across the bed, holding her burning cheeks within her palms. Lumiere had just asked her on a date, and she said yes! Nerves overtake her body, making her tingly all over. They’re good nerves, though — like, pure excitement. Never did she think she’d feel so giddy over something as stupid as a date.

She buries herself under the covers once again, covering her mouth to hide the silly smile spreading across her face.

Sleep comes easily to her.

☘︎︎

Morning comes, and Secré rises from her soft bed, stretching her arms upward to release the tension built in her muscles. After letting out a soft yawn, she slides out of her bed, socked feet hitting the cool floor.

Secré glances over, noticing her phone sitting on the bunched up comforter. She raises a thin brow. Wasn’t that on the charger last night?

Reaching over, she grabs the phone before returning to her upright position, checking it. When she goes into her messages, the name at the top of the list catches her attention. It’s then that the events of last night replay in her mind, causing her to drop her phone. It thuds against the floor, her eyes widening as she realizes something crucial.

She has a date with Lumiere today!

Secré squats down, picking up her phone. The time reads 11:37. A breathy sigh of relief is exhaled through her nose. Lumiere said he’d be here at 1:30. That gives her a little less than two hours.

Getting ready for a date couldn’t take that long, right?

☘︎︎

Wrong.

Now fresh from her shower, Secré slips on the thin, flowy, dark dress she had chosen from the mall. It fits fine, and she figures she can just put on her black flats and leave, but dark clouds of self doubt swirl like a storm inside her mind.

A nagging voice claws at the back of her brain, telling her that she needs to bring more than just her typical self. If she wants to do this, she has to go all the way. Lumiere saw her like this all the time, it wouldn’t be special if she kept everything the same.

Now determined to glam up a little, she goes back into her bathroom, standing in front of the mirror above the sink. The reflection shows pale, vampire-like skin and irises as deep as blood, with medium-length lashes that fluttered with every blink. Secré knew she was cute, in a unique kind of way, but she never cared much about her looks. Now, though, she wonders how she could make herself just a little cuter. If just for a few hours.

Secré idly combs her hand through her hair, wondering if maybe she could change up the style. The shoulder-length look was simple and low-maintenance, hence why she kept it that way, but maybe she could switch it up just this once.

A small, clear rubber band sitting on the edge of the porcelain sink catches her eye. How convenient, she thinks. Secré picks up the small band between her fingers, using it to tie a low, messy bun. Purposefully, she leaves some strands sticking out, in a way that makes it look low-effort yet pretty all the same.

As for her face… a little makeup couldn’t hurt, right? While Secré didn’t own her own makeup, Vanessa often gave her some for “just in case” moments. Secré never really believed she would need it, but she always took it anyway, as to show gratitude to Vanessa for her thoughtfulness.

She would have to thank her later.

Secré exits the bathroom, which is in her room. The petite girl walks to her nightstand, opening the drawer and finding a minimal amount of makeup. Lip gloss, eyeshadow, mascara, and other stuff that she had forgotten the name of.

The mascara and lip gloss should be enough, she figures. They were the easiest things there to apply, after all.

Using the mirror attached to the nightstand, she applies the makeup. Admittedly, it took a while for her to get it right, as she practically never used any makeup. The last time she even attempted had to be sometime before she was even in high school. 

Eventually, though, she gets it right, and is actually proud of the results. It’s not too little, but not too much. A small smile spreads across her face, and she takes another look at her phone.

1:18 PM. Secré takes a deep breath, preparing for the message that’ll appear at any moment now saying that he’s outside. She heads downstairs by the door, slipping on her dark flats that matched the shade and style of her dress. Smoothing out the fabric of the ensemble, she readies herself, using her phone camera to take one last look at herself.

Lumiere •ᴗ•: I’m here!

1:22 PM

ME: Coming.

1:22 PM

Secré turns off her phone and steps out the house, the October breeze wafting across her smooth skin, her dress flowing along the direction of the wind. As she walks down the long, expensive pathway of her mansion, she sees Lumiere’s very nice, yet practical, silver SUV.

Just as she approaches the door, Lumiere steps outside the car and walks around to the passenger side, displaying a beautiful grin, perfectly white teeth on display as his arctic eyes glisten under the sun. A bouquet of flowers are held tightly in his grip, and he’s wearing casual, slightly formal clothing.

“For you,” Lumiere says smoothly, handing Secré the bouquet of black cat petunias, a unique kind of flower, completely black in color with a velvety look to its texture. Secré takes the bouquet, her heart nearly leaping at the sweet gesture.

“Thank you,” She blushes, fingers brushing against the silky petals.

Lumiere opens the door for her, and she gives him another shy smile before stepping into the car, settling into her seat. Lumiere closes the door, walks around, and gets into the driver’s seat. It smells like expensive cologne, something of a calm, summer day with a hint of vanilla. It’s comforting and sweet, and Secré takes a deep inhale of it.

“Where are we going?” Secré asks, buckling her seatbelt.

The blond points his thumb to the backseat of the car, and so she turns her head to look over, noticing a woven basket sitting in the center. It’s rather large, and has a pretty, silk, red bow tied around it. Looking forward once again, she thinks she has an idea.

“A picnic?”

“Yeah,” Lumiere says, a subtle nervousness threaded throughout his tone. “I hope you like it. I can’t take credit for the entire thing — Vanessa gave me the date idea, and Asta and Charmy are the ones who prepared the food. I just… really wanted to spend some time with you, you know? So I decided to go along with their idea and ask you out,” He tells her softly, a tone so reserved, it makes her fingers feel all fuzzy and cheeks go hot.

There’s a slight tremble in her voice as she asks, “A-Ask me out?”

Though she already knew that was what he was doing, hearing those words come straight from his lips, in his voice, made it all too real. It was hard to contain her nervousness.

Lumiere seems to tense at that, expression becoming worried as he chuckles in that light, airy voice of his. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have phrased it that way! I just meant that I wanted to ask you to spend this afternoon with me! I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, Secré!”

Softly, she shakes her head, clutching the flowers to her chest. “No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s okay. I just got a little flustered, is all,” Somehow, a splurge of confidence blooms within her, whether it’s the new look, or the fact that she’s on her first date, she doesn’t know, but for some reason, she says, “If you want to consider this a date, then it can be…”

The car comes to a screeching halt. Secré keeps her gaze fixated outside her window, embarrassment creeping up her entire being. Luckily, they had stopped at a light rather than in the middle of the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lumiere staring at her, wide-eyed with rosy cheeks.

“Do you… mean that, Secré?”

Slowly, she turns her head towards him, lips curving into a tiny smile as she provides a meek nod. “Yes. It would be nice.”

Contemplation lingers behind pretty, blue eyes, before a handsome smile graces his delicate features. “Alright, then,” He says. “It’s a date.”

☘︎︎

The spot in the park is really beautiful, with viridian grass growing and leaves the shade of auburn sprouting from tall, thick trees. Lumiere lays a thick, plaid blanket out, right by a crystal clear lake — but not too close, preventing the possibility of water getting on them or their food.

Lumiere rests the picnic basket on the corner of the blanket, retrieving everything from inside. Secré sits, watching curiously as the boy takes out two plates, forks, and a bunch of platters of food in containers. 

Lumiere sets their plates — half a cheesesteak sandwich, tossed caesar salad, and both macarons and beignets — and then gets two ice cold cans of soda, handing one to Secré as he finally takes a seat on the plaid blanket.

“Thanks,” Secré says. “All of this stuff looks really tasty, and the scenery is amazing. I’m really glad you took me here.”

“It’s no problem. I’m just glad we can finally spend some quality time together,” Lumiere admits, a bit bashful. “By the way, you look really pretty.”

A soft, almost inaudible gasp is elicited from her lips, pale skin becoming warm. Secré manages a grateful smile. “Thank you. You look great, too.”

They fall into a comfortable, brief silence as she picks up her cheesesteak, the savory scent soaring pleasantly through the park air surrounding them. The sandwich looks like Asta’s recipe, if she remembers correctly. As if on cue, her stomach emits a quiet grumble.

She takes a bite of the sandwich, a burst of rich flavor and velvety cheese instantly dancing across her tongue. Her eyes widen in slight surprise — she knew Asta was a good cook, but damn, this was good.

They eat together peacefully, engaging in simple conversation as they typically did. In a way, it didn’t feel too much like a date, but maybe that’s because they were so natural with each other, easily able to bypass the awkward, blush-y stage and simply bathe in each other’s presence.

That’s not to say that it wasn’t romantic. Lumiere would do sweet, subtle gestures that made Secré’s heart flutter. At one point, as they ate their macarons, Lumiere spotted a pure white daisy amongst the canvas of green across the ground, and pulled it from its stem, sliding it gently into her hair, just behind her ear. Secré may have been hearing things, but she could’ve sworn she heard the word “beautiful” whispered just under his breath.

Not long after, they had laid down on their backs, hands just centimeters away from making contact as they stared up at the clouds drifting east in the sky.

Lumiere would point up, listing the shape of every cloud that floated through his vision. There was one shaped like a dog, one like a pair of funky glasses, and one like… a pig swinging a mallet? Lumiere had insisted that’s what it was, but Secré saw nothing but a weirdly abstract blob. Secré had laughed, saying that Lumiere’s imagination was running rampant — but rather than receiving a comeback, the blond had just turned his head onto its side to stare at her, drinking in the beautiful sight of her side profile. Blue eyes were wide, glimmering with awe at the girl beside him.

It wasn’t until a few seconds of silence had passed that Secré turned her head, causing them to be nose-to-nose. Bloody red irises met aquatic, blue ones, and their gazes remained locked onto each other for what felt like eons, with their breathing picking up in anticipation, sweat sliding down their palms and blush staining their cheeks.

That sweet, quiet moment is soon interrupted by a squirrel infiltrating their space, eying the leftover salad in their plastic containers. Lumiere chuckles as he sits up, popping the lid off the bowl and sliding it onto the grass, allowing the small animal to munch on the vegetables. 

Secré finds the entire scene to be too cute, and, without really thinking about it, she sits up, too, and picks up her phone, snapping a photo. The sound of the device catches Lumiere’s attention, and he turns to face her with a bright grin on his face.

“Sorry, that was just too cute,” She says with a slight giggle.

“Don’t apologize — had the roles been reversed, I would’ve done the same. Actually…” Lumiere picks up his own device, and Secré’s smile falters as she watches Lumiere with curious eyes. Smiling cheekily, he takes a picture of her. “There! An image ten times cuter,” He tells her, showing her the picture of her with the expression of a lost puppy, the daisy sitting prettily in her hair as some of the strands blew in the wind.

“Oh,” Is all she manages to get out, looking at Lumiere with a budding hope growing in her chest. It was clear what she felt, and by his actions, she was sure he felt something of the sort, too. A tiny, almost insignificant seed of doubt sits in her mind, threatening to grow and ruin this entire momentum, but she tries to take a page from Asta’s book and just stop thinking, allowing her heart to take its course.

Watching as Lumiere looks at her with such fondness, she finds that it’s actually pretty easy to bring her thoughts to a halt, focusing only on what is in front of her. Slowly, her face inches towards his, glossy lips meeting smooth, bare ones as her eyelashes flutter, eyes beginning to close.

Lumiere follows suit, their bodies like magnets, attracting one another. It’s when Lumiere reaches a hand out, cupping her cheek, that their lips slot together perfectly, so soft, so gentle. It’s chaste and sweet, the taste of sugary beignets intermingling throughout their connected lips. Secré has never felt so happy before, her entire being entering a state of bliss as she subconsciously nuzzles into Lumiere’s warm touch, still kissing him.

It’s like being kissed by a prince, or something sappy like that. The boy is so calm and tender with his movements, like Secré is made of glass and he wants to cherish her forever, never letting her fall and shatter to pieces.

Just as gradually as they had come together, they come apart. Their eyes open in sync, the both of them completely flushed, lightly panting as they stare into each other’s eyes, completely enamored by the other’s beauty.

The calm silence is suddenly shattered once Lumiere lets out a breathy laugh. The sound pulls Secré back into reality, and she waits anxiously for him to say something. She doesn’t wait long.

“I can’t believe we just did that.”

At this, Secré laughs, too. Seems like she was worried for nothing. “Yeah. But I liked it…”

“Me, too,” Lumiere says. Then, without warning, he takes Secré’s smaller hands into his larger ones. Red eyes stare at him expectantly, and he smiles warmly. “And I’d like to keep doing it. So, Secré, I’m asking you… will you be my girlfriend?”

The sounds surrounding her go mute as blood thrums heavily in her ears, skin suddenly feeling too constricting, too warm and tight and sweaty. It feels impossible to get any words out, her hands trembling as she stares into sapphire irises, a strong hope dwelling behind the beautiful shade.

Just breathe, she tells herself, regaining her composure. This is what she’s wanted for so long, and now it’s right here in the palm of her hand — all she has to do is say yes.

So, after taking one deep breath of air, she grins prettily.

“I would love to.”